


Choice

by MashiarasDream



Series: Choice [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alpha!Dean, Also fluff, Angst, Cas POV, Dark Ages, Free Will, Fucked up society, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, hunter pack, mentions of mpreg, mentions of past violence, omega sanctuary, omega!cas, slave!Castiel (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: In a world where Omegas are enslaved, Dean has told Castiel that even though he bought him, he considers Cas to be a person and not his property. Now if only Castiel knew what exactly that meant.It’s a rocky road to come into your own when you’re not used to having a choice and secrets from the past and fears of the future do their utmost to drag you back.





	1. Angel Blade

**Author's Note:**

> It took a few years but you finally wore me down. So I gave in and wrote the angsty sequel. :) Let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you to WatchingOne, ViviTargaryen, keepcalmanddonotblink and Alyeen1, who are both my betareaders and my family. <3

When he wakes up, Dean has let go of him. Instead, Dean has rolled himself up, arms hugging his knees, a position that makes him seem so much smaller than he is. It takes a moment for Castiel to work out why he himself is in a position to see this. Why he is turned towards Dean and not away.

They have talked. Things have changed.

He sits up enough that his eyes can find the pile of clothes where they’ve been dropped last night, careful not to disturb the bearskin so much that the cold morning air can rush in and wake Dean.

Yes, the clothes are still there. Not a dream then.

He turns back to Dean. His hair is ruffled as usual but his face is peaceful. There’s even a small smile on his lips. It’s a good dream, then. He doesn’t always have those. Sometimes he’s whimpering in his sleep, crying out softly for help. Things an Alpha shouldn’t do. Not even in his sleep. Things Castiel shouldn’t know. He should close his eyes and ears when that happens, pretend he was never awake to witness it. But he can’t. He can’t leave Dean to his pain so he snakes out a hand and pets his hair, murmurs calming little nothings to him like he’d sometimes done to the children at Master Crowley’s. It helps, even though there’s no substance behind it, no actual making better of anything. He makes sure to stop whenever there is a sign that Dean might wake up. It’s not Castiel’s place to comfort the Alpha. Though after yesterday, Castiel is suddenly not sure anymore that it would get him in trouble. Maybe it would even be appreciated.

The thought is unsettling, so he pushes it aside. Not that it helps much. Because that only makes room for their conversation from yesterday to rush in.

 _Free_.

It’s not a concept he’s ever entertained. He doesn’t know what it means. Not really.

The only thing he is sure of, is that it still means there are expectations. Things he has to do. Things he’s not allowed to do. Because everyone in this pack has a place and keeps to it, even though they’re free.

And the only place in the pack that Castiel knows he can fill is the one he has filled in the past few months. It's a place no one else holds. It has tasks that need to be done.

So he deems it best not to change anything at all. Not unless Dean tells him to.

Dean.

He curbs the smile that wants to crop up when he looks at the sleeping Alpha. He doesn’t get it. How an Alpha can be so warm and caring and how Cas’ heart can soar just by looking at him.

Cas sighs. As nice as it is to look at Dean, he should get going. The day is not going to wait for him to sort out his thoughts.

Silently, he slips out from under the bearskin, finds his normal tunic and slips it over his head before the cold can settle into his bones. There’s dry wood stacked next to their fire, he always makes sure they have enough for the morning. There’s a deep red glow in between the ashes still and it doesn’t take more than a bit of kindling and a few moments of patience to get the fire going again. Dean will be warm when he wakes up.

There’s a few people up at some of the other fires already, too. Not as many as there would be on a travel day, but enough. It’s lazy days for them right now, the traps they’ve set can be checked anytime. Meat, fat, blood, bones, skin, they use everything of the animals they capture. Sometimes they sell the meat fresh, but mostly they dry it, sell it together with everything else, from tallow to bone needles.

For Castiel, lazy days mean his days are lazy, too. They’ve given him things to do that he’s comfortable with. Collecting firewood and stacking it next to the fires. Collecting berries and mushrooms and herbs for Missouri. He’s good at that, actually. She never needs to show him a plant twice for him to unerringly find its siblings.

He smiles. It makes him feel good that Missouri trusts him with this, even though he doesn’t have the experience of a hunter and even though she double-checks everything he brings her to make sure no poisonous plant has slipped among the harvest.

He should make use of the fact that they’re camped next to a river, though. And that it isn’t too cold yet. There’s a pile of clothes that needs attention. They wear a lot of leather, sturdy and rarely in need of mending. But linen underthings need to be washed and woolen outercoats rip and need to be patched back together.

They can all do it themselves, every one of them as good with a needle as they are with a carving knife, but it doesn’t feel right, somehow, letting them waste time on something that he can do while they have more important tasks to attend.

Still, he doesn’t like laundry day. Because he has to go from fire to fire and ask. Has to wait until they have dug up what they want to give to him out of their chests and duffle bags. Has to say thank you and go on to the next fire just to repeat the process. So many eyes, so much attention on him. So many times he has to make his voice cooperate.

But he thinks today might be a day where he can do it. Where his voice will hold steady.

They have to wake up before he goes to them, though, so for now, he stays where he is. The pile of his new clothes beckons to him, and he crawls over to them. They shouldn’t be in a pile anyway. He carefully brushes them out and folds them neatly. They’re soft yet firm and thick under his hands. With the light of the dawn getting brighter, the blue of the tunic stands out even more.

Too good for him, way too good. Blue is one of the most expensive dyes. And to find the color this clear, even if the tunic is not new, it must have cost Dean. Castiel brushes over the fabric. He should ask him to take it back. Castiel is used to tunics the color of dirt that scratch and itch where they touch his skin. He doesn’t need this. Dean could spend the money on something more useful. Castiel lets his hand glide over the smooth fabric again. It would feel wonderful to wear it, though. Especially with the knowledge that Dean bought this for him. That Dean cares. He doesn’t want to give the tunic up. And technically, he’s got no right to refuse the Alpha’s gift anyway.

He snorts silently when he notices that somehow he’s got less trouble accepting a punishment than he has accepting a gift. Even though both are the right of an Alpha to give, Castiel’s been bestowed the one a lot more than the other.

“There’s a chest that goes with it, too. So you can store your stuff without it getting wet. I can show you.”

Cas jumps at the voice. He hadn’t noticed Dean waking up. But from a quick glance through his lashes, it looks like Dean’s been awake for a while, watching him. Castiel feels the color rising to his skin. He shouldn’t be dawdling. Even if it’s a lazy day, he has stuff to do. At the very least, he should bring Dean his breakfast. Missouri will have it ready by now.

As usual, he has to fight his voice. It’s not made better by the fact that he doesn’t know whether he should be apologizing or thanking Dean. What comes out in the end is neither. “I’ll bring you breakfast,” he mumbles and makes to get up and flee before he can ask Dean to take the clothes back.

“Cas!” Dean’s hand is on his arm immediately, freezing him in place even though Dean doesn’t do more than splay his fingers openly over his wrist. It’s not even a hold, really. “Let’s go together, okay? I’ll show you where to store your stuff and we’ll get breakfast after?”

Dean does that all the time. Phrasing what he wants as questions. This is a new one, though. He hasn’t complained yet that Cas brings him his food. Cas wonders what brought on that change but nods anyway.

“Awesome,” Dean smiles and stretches to warm his muscles to the day. The bear skin slides off of him, and Castiel has a hard time taking his eyes away from the long lean lines of Dean’s body. He does, though, in time that he doesn’t get caught staring. He takes their bowls from the basket and stacks them on top of the pile of clothes. It’ll be precarious, balancing the whole stack, but Castiel will be careful. He doesn’t want anything to topple into the dirt.

But Dean is faster than him. Before Castiel can even get up from his knees, he’s snatched the bowls in one hand and the boots in the other. “I’ll carry this. You care for the clothes.”

He’s up on his feet before Castiel has a chance to protest. He gets up and follows Dean without comment.

It’s a bit of an awkward dance, the way to the wagon where Dean leads him. Dean tries to wait for him while Castiel stubbornly tries to stay a step behind.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean finally whines, “how am I supposed to talk to you if you’re walking behind me?”

Castiel could point out that Dean is _not_ supposed to talk to him. But he’s pretty sure that it would make little difference, even if he found the words for it. So he shuffles forward until he’s almost at Dean’s side. Maybe half a step behind. Definitely closer than he should be.

Dean grins at him. “Better.”

Only, now that he has Castiel in his view, he doesn’t seem to know what to talk about. Castiel tries to keep his eyes to the ground in front of him, but he sees it out of the corner of his eye, how Dean’s mouth opens like he wants to say something and then closes again. Finally, he sighs softly, and gives up.

They make it to the wagon like that. The horses look up from where they’re tied next to it. They keep the wagons in a loose circle, the horses in the middle. The dogs run the perimeter, making sure that no wild animals attack, like the guards make sure that no other humans come close. Sometimes they split up, a hunting troupe setting out with only light luggage, while the others either keep going on the road or wait. Dean makes sure to leave enough skilled fighters with the wagons that they’ll be safe. Though he always seems to worry more about the people he leaves behind than the possessions he might lose.

“Come on up, Cas,” Dean has already climbed up on the coach, holding out a hand to help Castiel up.

Castiel is rooted to the spot, though. This is the wagon where Dean’s and Sam’s possessions are stored. And the weapons. It is not a wagon that he should be in. Slaves should not be tempted by letting them get too close to means of attack.

“Let me take the clothes, then it’ll be easier to climb up,” Dean says, misunderstanding Castiel’s hesitation.

“You shouldn’t,” Castiel says, voice fearful both because of his resistance and because of the memories threatening to cloud his mind.

Dean’s forehead wrinkles. “You’ll have to explain that one,” he says confused, easy grin blown away.

“Please. It’s not safe,” Castiel pleads.

Dean’s noticed now that something is wrong. He leaves the boots and bowls up on the coach and jumps back down. He takes the clothes out of Cas’ hands and stacks them behind himself, too. “Okay, now. What’s wrong?”

Castiel hugs his arms around his body the moment his hands are free. He rocks softly on the soles of his feet, following the motion with his eyes. He can’t tell Dean. Dean only knows him good. He gave him nice things. Castiel doesn’t want them taken away. “Please, Alpha. Don’t have me go near weapons.” It doesn’t come out as more than a whisper, the first bravery gone.

“You’re afraid of the weapons?” Dean asks back as if he isn’t sure he’s heard right.

Castiel nods.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Cas,” Dean says confused. “Your chest is in there, that’s all. I put it next to mine.”

Castiel shakes his head because that’s not it. That’s not what he’s afraid of. Master Crowley’s voice is whispering in his ear suddenly, ‘ _I think we can use that talent of yours instead of putting you down. What do you think?_ ’

“Please, Dean. I don’t want to hurt you.” His vision is blurry now, tears that should not be falling. Never cry. It’s not your place. It doesn’t matter what you’re feeling, all you have to do is follow orders. Even if there’s blood. So much blood.

He finds himself on the ground, heaving, though there’s nothing in his stomach that could come out. This is bad. He feels the slick blood on his hands even though he can see it isn’t there. Feels skin growing cold under his palm, between his legs, hears a gurgle of surprise long fallen silent. ‘ _Go for the throat, dear, it’ll be quick and quiet. And you have such talented hands. Not to speak of your other talents. They’ll never see it coming._ ’

But Dean doesn’t know. Dean knows he’s meticulous with the dishes. That he stacks the firewood neatly.

Dean’s hand is on his back, rubbing soothing circles.

Castiel shies away, ducks out from under the touch. He doesn’t deserve it. If anything, that hand should be striking him. He’s defied Dean, didn’t go where he wanted him to be. And now Castiel is retreating when he should stay. Dean should be mad.

But Dean drops his hand back to his side and looks worried more than anything. “What are you telling me, Cas? Are you telling me you can fight?”

Castiel shakes his head. Battles with his voice again. It wants to lock up, wants him to keep his secret. But Dean’s been good to him. He can’t have him get hurt. It doesn’t matter what it means to Castiel’s life. “Not fight. Kill.”

There is no answer to that and somehow Castiel doesn’t expect one. He’s on his knees anyway, hands braced against the ground from heaving. He puts them behind his back now, holds on to his wrists. The moment of nausea has passed. He wills his fear to pass as well. He knows how. It’s not the first time panic has gripped him, though usually, he manages to get away and be alone until it passes.

As always, the battle leaves him tired. So very tired that the world is fuzzy around its edges and his thoughts are slow as molasses.

Maybe Dean will let him sleep. After he knows it all. Dean will ask first. Will want to know. Because that’s Dean. It makes Castiel smile. A soft, fond smile. It’s a good thing that Dean is a hunter. Hunters know what they’re doing. They kill swiftly. Swifter than Castiel even. And Dean is kind. With a bit of luck, Castiel will never see it coming.

“Cas?” Dean hasn’t come any closer. Confusion still clouds his scent. Whether because of what Castiel said or because he’s suddenly quiet and composed, Castiel doesn’t know.

“I don’t remember it all,” Castiel says softly and isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or bad that his voice seems to want to say this and doesn’t stumble. “But there were many. All Alphas. Master Crowley sent them to me. Because they’d never suspect. Not in their moment of bliss. Not from the Omega under them. And they didn’t. Not one of them.”

‘ _Always knew it that the quiet ones are the dangerous ones. Ah, what luck you have that I can see your potential.‘_

That first one hadn’t been planned. That first one he was supposed to hold still for. Castiel doesn’t know how it happened. The slick blood on his hands. That’s the first memory when he came to. That’s the part that scares him the most. That there’s times he doesn’t remember. That’s what’s made even Master Crowley afraid of him. He always kept his distance. Always sent for Castiel for others to take him. Sometimes just that. Sometimes with additional instructions.

‘But not Dean,’ Castiel resolves. ‘I won’t hurt Dean.’

He never actually thought he would. Though he keeps track of the knife in Dean’s boot and the one at his belt. But Dean’s been good to him. And he’s always remembered when someone was good to him. His hands never came away bloody then. Unless Master Crowley instructed it.

Only now, Dean knows. Now Castiel has given Dean no choice but not to be good to him. So he has to make sure not to hurt him. He grabs his wrists behind his back a little tighter. Makes sure his hands stay where they are. It would be better if they were bound of course. But this will have to suffice. He closes his eyes. Leans his head back to expose his throat.

“I want to see.” Dean’s voice catches him by surprise.

“What?” Castiel’s eyes flutter open again.

Dean watches him intently but his eyes haven’t turned hard like Castiel expected. “What you can do. I want to see it.” Dean gets up to his feet and holds out a hand for Castiel to take. “Come on, up with you. Show me what weapons you’ve worked with before.”

It takes a moment but Castiel manages to unknot his hands from behind his back. Even manages to stretch one out towards Dean, who takes it and hauls him to his feet with little effort.

This time, Castiel doesn’t stop Dean when he climbs onto the coach but follows him slowly. The wagons are cramped, small spaces, and with Dean going in first, Castiel has little room to maneuver. Which is good. He isn’t sure whether or not to pick up the clothes. Is it better to keep his hands visible at all times? To make sure they’re clasped in front of him?

But Dean takes the decision out of his hands. “Can you bring your stuff?”

Castiel picks the bundle up and follows Dean inside.

Dean is kneeling in front of a plain chest, fiddling with a key in the dim light. He’s not even looking up as Castiel is approaching, even though he’s already passed several bows, complete with quivers full of arrows, the wooden staffs that lean against a corner and several bear spears. Not that the latter would be of much help in closed quarters like this.

“Ah, there we go,” Dean nods and opens the lid of the box. “There isn’t anything else in it yet. But whatever you have and want to keep safe, you can stash it here.”

He waves Castiel closer and he sinks to his knees next to Dean and neatly stacks the boots and clothes into the chest. It fills not even a quarter of the space of the chest.

“Here,” Dean holds out the key to Castiel. When he makes no move to take it, Dean presses the key into his palm. “It’s your stuff, Cas. You get the key.”

There’s a leather cord attached to the key so that it can be worn as a necklace of sorts.

“I’m an Omega,” Castiel says and doesn’t move. Even if Dean says he doesn’t see him as his property, it doesn’t mean Castiel can have possessions of his own.

“I’ve noticed,” Dean answers drily. “Now go lock that chest so that we can figure out your fighting skills.”

Castiel does as he’s told, hesitantly closing the lid and locking the chest, before pulling the leather over his head and tucking the key under his tunic. It’s cold against his skin.

“So, what weapons have you used before?”

Castiel bites his lips. The fact that he knows the use of weapons at all should be enough to get him executed. Omegas are not allowed.

“Show me if you can’t tell,” Dean says and opens the lids of a few of the other boxes stacked in here.

Castiel looks at them one by one. Hunters are prepared for every eventuality. What weapons there are, they have. The gleam from one box past Dean catches Castiel’s eye. He crawls a little closer, careful to avoid touching anything. It’s not exactly what Master Crowley had him use but it’s close enough. His hand trembles only a little when he points at it.

“This?” Dean asks and takes out one of the metal objects. It’s a thrust weapon, slim, pointy end, size somewhere between a dagger and a sword. Needs only one good push if you find the right place to push it into.

“Master Crowley called it an Angel Blade,” Castiel whispers, voice gone completely toneless.

Dean nods. “I can see how it is a good weapon for you. It’s light, yet powerful. It allows swift movements. Your natural grace comes in handy for it.” When Castiel looks at him without much comprehension, Dean chuckles. “You’ve given more than one of the pack half a heart-attack when you showed up next to them without them ever hearing or seeing you.”

“Omegas are not to be noticed,” Castiel mumbles.

“Yeah, and hunters make it their business to notice every movement. They’re not used to being snuck up on.” Dean weighs the sword in his hand for a second, then puts it back. Instead, he digs in one of the other chests until he finds two even pieces of wood. Their size is almost the same as the angel blade, though they are no more but smoothened, blunt wooden sticks. “Let’s go with these for the beginning. Until I get a feeling for how well you can keep control of your weapon.”

Castiel feels sick again when Dean presses the wooden sword into his hand.

He must look it, too, because Dean squeezes his shoulder. “This is a hunter pack, Cas. I’d have tested your skills much earlier, had I known you possess them.” He gives him a moment to digest that and then softly asks, “Do you want to have breakfast first? Get used to the thought?”

To that, Castiel shakes his head. He couldn’t eat right now if his life depended on it.

“Alright,” Dean nods. “Out we go.”

He crawls around Castiel so that they can make their way outside. It’s gotten completely light in the time they’ve spent in the wagon and the pack is now awake.

Dean leads them to a clear space, off to the side of the camp but open and visible to everyone.

“You’ve ever done a practice fight, Cas?”

It’s louder outside, the noise of the waking group carrying, so Castiel struggles to make his voice loud enough to be heard. “As a child. Before...”

Dean nods his understanding. Before his fate was decided on the day he presented. “Alright,” Dean answers. “It’s the same as back then, I guess. You want to knock me off my feet but you don’t want to actually hurt me. I hope, anyway,” Dean grins easily. “But, you still want to show me what you can do. So you want to use the strategies but not the power. I won’t mind if you hit me but if you go for the throat, stop your impulse in time. Alright?”

Castiel feels anything but alright. He nods anyway. There isn’t much other choice. He’s pretty sure Dean is actually intent on doing this. But if they do… Castiel eyes Dean warily. Wets his lips. Then asks, “Can you… would you remove your knives?”

Dean raises his eyebrows but he draws both his knives out of their holsters and throws them to the side, far enough that they’re out of reach.

“Thank you,” Castiel breathes quietly. Now there’s nothing there that he can grab if he gets to a moment which he won’t remember. And he’s not going to win against Dean on power alone. Without a sharp object to stab him with, Dean will be safe.

“No problem,” Dean answers and grasps his sparring weapon a little tighter. “No rules about attack and defense in this one. We can do that later, when we know where we stand.”

He’s started circling during his sentence and on instinct, Castiel does the same. Keeps their distance even and his front towards Dean. The wooden sword is balanced differently than the actual thing. He’ll have to get used to it if he wants precision. And he’ll need precision if he’s really going to do this. For a moment, he’s insecure. He could let Dean win. Defend himself but not attack. Convince Dean that he’s not dangerous that way. But it’s not what Dean wants of him.

And he’s seen Dean fight. Dean will be able to throw him off.

He’s seen Dean fight. That’s also an advantage. Dean hasn’t seen him fight. He knows nothing about how Castiel moves when he wants to be fast. There’s a strategy in there somewhere.

That’s as far as he gets when Dean has enough of the waiting and launches his first attack. It is halfhearted at best, no more than a first test to see whether Castiel has any orientation in a fight at all. He sidesteps the lunge easily.

Not everyone in his life has been an Alpha. Not everyone was someone he had to stay still for and suffer through the punches. There’s enough possibility to learn how to dodge in an Omega’s life.

The second attack is a little more focused but it’s still clear that Dean is making this easy. So instead of cleanly ducking out of the way, Castiel dodges the strike, but raises his arms and turns so that his sword connects with Dean’s shoulder. There is no force behind the strike but when Dean turns, Castiel holds his breath anyway. It’s all well and good to say that he wants to test Castiel’s ability, it’s a whole other thing for Castiel to actually get a strike in.

But all Dean does is nod in acknowledgement that he got touched and start circling again, clearly waiting for Castiel to make a move this time.

The question is how. Dean’s Alpha strength will let him block any advancement Castiel makes. He needs to get through his cover. Actually, his best shot is what Dean has proposed: going for the throat. Because he’s not going to get more than one chance, that one chance has to count.

But Dean is taller than him, his reach is longer. Castiel’s only possible advantage is swiftness then, and an element of surprise, if he can find one.

He launches an attack of his own, much less to actually try to get close to Dean, and much more to see how fast he turns to face Castiel again. If he could get behind Dean, that might work.

They keep going like that for a while, their attacks gradually getting more refined, though Castiel makes sure he stays on the defensive. Dean’s not going to get tired by this, but neither is Castiel. He was fast even before he got to this pack, and the months with them have given him strength to back that up.

It’s clear, though, that Dean’s stance is practiced and his cover has mere moments of weakness, that Castiel finds no pattern to predict. If he wants to win this, it will come at a price. He starts trying to predict the patterns of Dean’s slashes instead. Dean likes to cut from below, but every so often he’ll put in a strike from above.

Those will be easier. Pretending this is an angel blade, a cut from below if he times this wrong can open him from stomach to chest. A slash from above, at the angle Dean is holding the sword, Castiel only needs to make sure his neck is out of the way. Everything else will heal. His ribs will catch the brunt of the impact, or his shoulder or arm. He needs to make sure it’s the left one. Because he can’t lose his sword arm.

It takes another two rounds of attacks before there is one sloppy enough that Castiel can see what Dean is doing before he’s even three steps close to him. He feigns stepping to the side as he’s done most every time before and then instead runs the last two steps towards Dean, colliding with force and bringing his sword arm up around his neck so that his elbow hooks on Dean’s throat. He yanks with all the strength he’s got, even while he feels the impact of the wooden sword on his back. He grunts with the pain though it is blunt and not at all like the blinding pain a real sword would cause. He doesn’t let go, his jump having given him enough momentum to sail past Dean even while keeping his arm hooked around Dean’s neck, his body weight now in the downward fall pulling directly on Dean’s throat. Dean’s got no choice but to go down with him.

That’s the really tricky moment, the landing. But Castiel has foreseen this and he’s landing forward where Dean is on his back. He lets go of Dean’s neck at the last second, braces himself on impact with his right arm, rolls out of the way of Dean’s crashing body and is back up to kneel on Dean’s chest, point of the wooden sword against his windpipe before Dean has recovered from his shock.

He’d be bleeding at this point and not be able to use his left arm, but he actually hasn’t used it in the finish of this attack.

Dean’s sword clatters out of his hand, the sign that he’s giving up.

The next second it comes to Castiel what he has done. He can feel the panic spread through him like a wave of hot and cold. For an endless moment, he can’t seem to move but then his legs get with the program, allowing him to at least get up long enough to climb off of Dean’s chest and collapse next to him.

He lets go of the sword, which doesn’t have far to fall. Eyes to the ground, hands tightly gripping each other. Throat, he needs to show the Alpha his throat. Frantically, he pushes his head back far enough that his neck isn’t covered by his chin, still averting his eyes. That brings a whole new wave of panic, though, because he hadn’t even noticed the crowd that’s gathered around them until he’s accidentally looking at them in this very second. Oh no. They’re stunned into silence for now but they’ve all seen it. They’ve seen Castiel knock their Alpha down. Being bested by an Omega is enough to make any man cruel.

“I’m sorry. Please. I didn’t mean to.” He doesn’t know where the words are coming from, he should stay quiet and still, he’s good at quiet and still usually, but Dean’s always been good to him and this is how Castiel repays him. He knows that everything that’s going to follow is his own fault and he knows being sorry doesn’t take any of it back, but the words tumble out of his mouth and he has no way to hold them back. “I’m sorry! Please, Alpha, I didn’t want to – I didn’t – “ But he did and he can’t undo it.

“Fucking hell, Cas,” Dean wheezes, still lying on his back and trying to work air through his windpipe. “You shoulda have warned me that you fight like a mother bear with no regard whatsoever for her own life.” He starts – laughing. It sounds strangled and dissolves into coughing, courtesy of the air being crushed out of him, but when Castiel looks to confirm, yes, Dean’s shoulders are shaking with laughter.

“No wonder he was scared,” Dean cry-laughs. “I didn’t get it. Right until this very second I didn’t get it. Why an Alpha like Crowley would be scared of a well-behaved and quiet Omega like you. Why he would insist on keeping you in chains like he did. Oh God. I have never been more mistaken in my life then when appraising you.”

Dean’s now bellowing with laughter while what blood was left drains out of Castiel’s face. Is that what Dean’s going to do to him now? Yes, Castiel thought it would be better if his arms were bound in the moment of blind panic earlier. But he doesn’t actually want that. Not again. He rubs his wrists where the imprints of the shackles are gone, but the scars where they rubbed his skin raw will never completely fade.

“Up you go,” Benny’s suddenly there and holding his hand out to Dean. “People are going to think you’re a madman, lying on the ground like that, laughing your ass off.”

“But did you see that?” Dean grinds out through his laughter. “Did you fucking see that?”

“Yes, Chief, we all saw it. You got your ass kicked. You better get yourself to Missouri, the both of you. That’s got to have hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves him off to get up on his feet on his own. “We’re going.”

He’s still laughing but when Castiel is not following him in getting up and stays kneeling, the mirth trickles away.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean says, voice still somewhat rough from the way his windpipe got crushed, and holds his hand out in front of him for Castiel to take. “You did what I asked you to, no more and no less.”

Castiel doubts that that is true. Dean asked him to show him his skills. He never asked for Castiel to treat this like an actual fight to the death. One in which losing the mobility of an arm is a sacrifice made for surviving. But apologizing again won’t make it undone. So he climbs to his feet, though he doesn’t take the hand that’s outstretched in front of him and instead keeps his arms behind his back. It starts hurting now that the adrenaline is fading away, his shoulder having taking the brunt of the hit that Dean had no time to pull. He’ll be sore for a good while. If it makes any difference.

He looks up at Dean, though he keeps his head lowered when he does it, and nods. He’s going to follow.

The smile hasn’t returned to Dean’s face. He takes in Castiel’s posture, his undoubtedly pale as chalk face. He nods abruptly and turns, “To Missouri it is.”

Missouri waits for them by her wagon. Her hands are on her hips and it doesn’t even need the tight set of her lips and her stern frown to know her disapproval.

“We’re sorry, Missouri,” Dean immediately appeases. “It wasn’t planned to go like this.”

She clucks her tongue, the gesture well-practiced. “Who of you needs the attention more?”

“Cas,” Dean answers. “I didn’t get a chance to pull that last punch.”

“Off with the shirt then,” Missouri prompts when Castiel doesn’t move.

“I -,” but the words are deserting him again. “No need,” he finally manages to whisper.

“I’ll decide that, thank you very much. Off with the shirt,” Missouri repeats, impatience creeping into her voice.

“If I was you, I’d listen to her. She gets nastier than me,” Dean stage-whispers.

“I heard that, Dean Winchester,” Missouri frowns. “Don’t think you’re ever too old for me to discipline you.”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” Dean answers quickly, though the chuckle in his voice says he isn’t put off or taking this too seriously.

Castiel uses the time the banter gives him to draw his tunic over his head. It hurts, moving his arm up that much. And with the tunic in hand, he can’t bring his arms behind his back. He clutches his hands in front of him instead.

“Turn around, kid,” Missouri orders.

This time, he complies.

She grunts and slaps him on the back of his head. It rocks him forward, more with surprise than with force. “That was a reckless move, kid. I liked you so far but now I’ll have to think that over. Giving your healer extra work is never appreciated.”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts. “Chew me out if you have to. I told him to show me his skills. He did.”

“I’m coming to you next, don’t you worry. Now stay still, kid.”

He’s not a kid, hasn’t been in a long time, but he stays still and lets her poke at him, bending his arm this way and that, pressing her thumbs into his flesh. Testing whether anything is torn or broken. It’s not, he can already tell, even though he hisses in pain. But he calculated his move right. “It wasn’t reckless.” He doesn’t even know why he’s saying it. He wasn’t asked his opinion. “The motion diverted the better part of the force. With an actual blade, the ribs would have kept it from slicing too deep. I would have lived.”

He stops because that’s not true. He would have lived through the fight, but he wouldn’t have lived. He’s lucky he’s still alive now. Will stay alive, it seems, because Missouri is spreading balm over the bruise and she wouldn’t do that if they didn’t plan on keeping him alive. They’re a lot of things, this hunter pack, but they aren’t wasteful with their resources.

“It was still a risky move, Cas,” Dean says, voice finally back to almost normal. “If I had seen it coming, I could have squashed you like a fly.”

But he hadn’t seen it coming. Instead, Castiel had taken Dean down. Had put him at risk.

Missouri is motioning for Castiel to move aside so she can check on Dean. There’s a bruise forming on his throat where Castiel had pulled with all his weight. And Dean could have easily hit his head in the fall. This is why Castiel shouldn’t be allowed to move freely. He makes wrong choices when he gets to choose. Hurts people who are good to him. And it doesn’t even look like Dean’s going to punish him for it. That’s double and triple wrong.

“Cas?” Dean looks over at him while staying still to allow Missouri to lather balm on him, too.

But Castiel has no answer for him. It’s all wrong. Dean should never have allowed this in the first place. But since it happened, he should at least make sure that it doesn’t happen again. Should assert his power over Castiel in any way he sees fit. Should be doing it publicly, too, so that Castiel’s screams are what the pack will remember of this day, and not the fact that their Alpha got knocked on his ass. So that no thought of their Alpha not being the strongest, not being in complete control can even spring up.

“I endangered you,” Castiel finally mumbles because that’s the closest he gets to uttering his thoughts and he knows it’s something Dean doesn’t tolerate, that he has to take up and deal with. Castiel will feel better once Dean has punished him. Once he knows where he stands again. Along with his skin, the lashes will strip away the doubts and insecurities that are plaguing him. Have been plaguing him since last night but are so much worse now.

“I didn’t ask you to hold back,” Dean says. “And I’m not made from sugar. This is nothing.”

“Makes no difference,” Castiel whispers. “They all saw.”

That’s enough to make Dean turn away from under Missouri’s touch. “What are you saying?”

The words want to get stuck in his throat but Castiel forces them out. It’s not that he actually wants to be struck. But he knows how this goes and he knows what Dean has to do to make the balance right again. And if he does, then maybe, in due time, they can forget about this day. Leave it behind and pretend that Castiel is what he’s supposed to be. Which, first and foremost, is harmless. To be trusted with tasks appropriate for an Omega. Allowed to do them without supervision because he’s not a danger to anyone.

“You have to teach me a lesson. In front of them. So that it doesn’t happen again.” It’s easier after the first few words have made it out, the rest falling out after them. He wonders whether he should kneel. But Dean hasn’t told him to move. So Castiel opts for merely keeping his eyes on the ground. He forces his hands to his sides. Clenching them is all good to immobilize himself but it’s also defensive. Arms aren’t as vulnerable as his chest. He can stay still for Dean.

“You’re not wrong,” Dean says, and it sounds softer than Castiel has expected. “I got to teach you.”

Castiel nods, hands clenching after all, though it’s only into the fabric of his tunic.

“I got to teach you moves that are safer than what you did today. I understand why you are fighting the way you do. You assume to be on your own. So you go for an option that is desperate and will work only if your opponent doesn’t see it coming and only if you manage to get it in at the exact right moment. That will kill you if you’re a few heartbeats off. All of that doesn’t matter to you because you expect to die anyway.” There’s a hand on Castiel’s arm then, holding him, making sure his attention is on Dean. As if that was even a question. “You can’t do that when fighting with a pack. I need everyone to work together. I can’t have you risk your life like this.”

And that’s most definitely not what Castiel expected Dean to say.

“It’s okay, Missouri, we’re good. Give us a minute on our own.”

He doesn’t let go of Castiel when he says it and he doesn’t let go of him while Missouri packs her things and goes to one of the other fires.

“Would you be willing to do that, Cas? Would you be willing to train and fight? We could use someone with your abilities. But not at the expense of your wellbeing. Cas?”

“You can’t.” It breaks out of Castiel. “It’s not safe. I can’t – I don’t always remember. Sometimes someone is dead and I don’t remember.” His legs don’t want to keep his weight up and he crumples to the ground.

Dean is immediately next to him, his arms coming up around Castiel, drawing him into his chest.

He wants to fight it, he does, he doesn’t deserve this comfort, but he finds that instead, his eyes are filling with tears again. “Please punish me,” he begs against Dean’s chest, his own breaths heaving. Something, anything to make this stop.

But Dean’s hand comes up to the back of Cas’ head, holding him gently.

That’s wrong. It’s all wrong. Castiel needs to be kept in check. He needs to be told his place. That’s always been the case. Castiel has always had a crack. Was always not quite right. But he’s tried so hard. He can blend into any shadow. He can collect berries and bring breakfast and wash dishes. He can carry a child.

The thought makes him freeze. They’ve talked about that, too, and Dean’s said words like ‘family’ and he’s sounded like he wanted that, and then Castiel went ahead and showed Dean how broken he really is.

And there is nothing he can do about it now. The realization seeps into him and dries his tears. He’s at Dean’s mercy. Well, that’s not a new development and he knows how to react to that. So he pushes himself upright, out of Dean’s arms. Gathers his hands on his knees. Looks down at them, head tilted for access to his throat, and lets his posture speak for him.

“No.” It’s not a harsh word but it’s determined. “This doesn’t work for me anymore.”

“Dean?” It’s Sam’s voice drifting over to them. He’s stopped a few feet away.

“Not now, Sam,” Dean grumbles without taking his eyes of Cas. It’s disturbing, really, how he knows that Dean is still watching. But his gaze is hot and intruding and Castiel has trouble not shrinking back against it.

“Just wanted to make sure everything was okay here,” Sam says soothingly but he doesn’t move. 

“Everything is okay, now go,” Dean growls.

Sam hums a noncommittal noise. “What are you going to do with him?”

Now, Dean is really upset. He whips his head in Sam’s direction and snaps. “None of your business.”

“Wanna send Cas to do his chores so that we can talk this through?” Sam proposes reasonably.

“The hell I will,” Dean replies heatedly. Suddenly, he’s shifted so that his whole body is in front of Cas.

“Ohhh-kay,” Sam’s voice becomes even more cautious. “I ain’t here to fight you for your Omega, you’re aware of that, right?”

“He’s not -,” Dean breaks off, scent dropping off from aggressive to embarrassed.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, man”, Sam says but he sounds relieved. “Cas, you good?” he asks over Dean’s head.

Cas flinches at being addressed and keeps his quiet.

“Go ahead, answer him,” Dean sighs. “We’re not getting rid of him otherwise.”

“I’m – good,” Cas manages to get out. He isn’t sure that it is the truth. But he’s alive and not hurting too much and that in itself tends to be a win for him.

“Hmm,” Sam sounds unconvinced. “If you say so. Dean, do you remember what we talked about?”

“Go away, Sam,” Dean says.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise,” Dean mutters. “Happy now?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “Not really. Cas, you holler if you need us, alright? Dean’s not the be all and end all here.”

Castiel flinches again but he doesn’t think that this one actually needs an answer. He wouldn’t be sure what to answer anyway. Of course Dean is the be all and end all. Which is as it should be.

“Just go, Sammy, please.”

This time, Dean sounds tired and it’s enough to make Castiel look up. He can’t really follow what the brothers are talking about, usually can’t because they’re talking in a short hand that Castiel was never here to learn while it was being coined, but he knows that he doesn’t like Dean sounding tired.

Dean’s not looking at either Cas or Sam, he’s rubbing a hand over his face, then dragging it down towards his throat. He feels around the bruise over his windpipe.

Castiel lets his head sink again. So dumb of him.

“He doesn’t know yet,” Dean says when Sam’s finally cleared out. “That we talked yesterday.”

Castiel frowns. That makes little difference, does it?

“And I’ve,” Dean sighs again. “I’ve gotten ahead of myself, haven’t I? You haven’t even decided whether you want to stay. And here I am pressuring you.” He gives Cas a small smile. “You fight well, though. Even if you don’t like it.”

And that leaves Castiel reeling again. It sounds like a compliment. But didn’t Sam just come by because he was worried what Dean would do to Castiel after what Castiel had done?

“Though it wouldn’t be – if you decided to stay and become a hunter like the rest of us, a hunter is what you would be. It wouldn’t be,” Dean clears his throat, “there’d be no unprovoked killing. And no one would touch you against your will.” There’s a slight growl in Dean’s voice when he thinks about that. “You’d be – whatever happens, it would be your decision.”

“People get hurt. If I make my own decisions,” Castiel replies quietly. It’s a fact. Omegas need to be controlled by an Alpha, whether they’re tools or weapons.

“I seem to remember you doing quite well in the past few months.” Dean’s posture relaxes when Castiel is talking. He exhales a long breath. “What do you say, Cas, want to see whether they saved us some breakfast?”

“I can bring you some,” Castiel offers.

“I know,” Dean nods. “But I’d rather we go together. I enjoy spending time with you. And it’ll make it clear, to the others.”

That Castiel won’t get punished. That Dean’s not upset with him. It makes so little sense.

“Okay,” Castiel mumbles.

 

Thus, the lazy day continues, as if nothing had ever happened. Dean eats his breakfast next to Castiel, then goes off and talks with Benny and Sam, leaving Castiel to be the focus of the pack. He flees down to the river, starting on that laundry he’s promised himself to do, but starting with Dean’s clothes because that way he doesn’t have to go ask anyone else.

It works for the day, and at night, Dean is careful to hug him close without pulling at the bruise on Castiel’s back.

The next day is as lazy as the last. Castiel moves his shoulder to test its flexibility and it’s a lot better than yesterday already. He really did calculate that move right. Dean smiles when he sees it, and Cas can’t help it, he smiles back.

But while things with Dean seem hardly changed, if you don’t account for the fact that Sam keeps shaking his head at his brother, and that Dean seems to be intent on being in Castiel’s space even during the day at random intervals, with the pack it’s different.

Lazy days of course mean that the pack isn’t as busy as usual during the day. They have time to focus on him. Oh, and they do.

He notices it already when he asks for their laundry. It’s like the first few weeks all over again. But back then, Dean told them to stop bothering Cas. Now, he does no such thing. In fact, when he’s close enough to overhear, he nudges Cas to answer them.

“Words, Cas,” quickly becomes his favorite sentence and the bane of Castiel’s existence.

But of course, that’s just the start.

Jo is the first to come up to him and request a sparring match. He shakes his head vehemently, but Jo is not one to be easily dissuaded. Dean only laughs when she follows Castiel all the way to his and Dean’s fire, pleading her case again, while Castiel desperately tries to hide behind Dean.

“She’s a wild one, she might be a good match for you,” Dean smirks and repositions himself so that he’s not between Jo and Cas anymore. “We’ll put down some ground rules, though.” He puts a hand on Cas’ arm, making sure his words have impact. “It’s a sparring match. So if you do this, then the minute it starts feeling real, you break it off. And no sharp objects. Apart from Jo’s elbows.”

Jo huffs at the Alpha but pleads with Castiel again. “Come on, Cas, I’ve knocked everyone else on their asses so often, they’re completely boring. I need fresh blood,” she whines.

Castiel gives in then and nods, though he can’t keep the worry off his face, even as Jo pumps her arms in the air in triumph. She runs off, obviously overjoyed and looking forward to the morning.

Dean smiles, but his scent shares Castiel’s worry not her joy. He squeezes Cas’ arm gently. “Let me ask you something, Cas. Did you ever hurt anyone who wasn’t an Alpha? Without remembering, I mean?”

Castiel shakes his head. Not that he knows off, anyway. They’d all been Alphas and they’d all been there for one purpose only. Castiel can feel his scent turning sour, and purposely averts his thoughts from the weight and the foul smell of those bodies on him.

“If I had to make a guess, I’d guess it’s what they called Blood Rage in the old clans. In the South they call it going Berserk. Have you heard of it?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“In a Blood Rage, an Omega’s power sometimes equals or surpasses that of an Alpha. Some clans tried to harvest its power. Others exiled those afflicted. Seems to me that neither of those ways are all that great.”

“There are others? Other Omegas?” Castiel asks because his mind doesn’t want to wrap around that.

“Yep,” Dean nods. “’s not only Omegas affected but people expect Alphas to be out for blood, so I’m guessing those incidents rarely make the stories.”

“Is it – can you cure it?” Castiel asks. Because if it’s an affliction then maybe he can be safe to be around, if only there is a cure.

Dean looks at him with a pained expression. “I can’t say that anyone has ever tried.”

“Oh,” Castiel nods, understanding dawning fast. Putting Omegas down is much easier than curing them after all.

“Cas? You know what else the stories say?”

Dean’s wearing a small smile, so hope surges in Castiel that something can be done after all.

“They all agree that for Omegas, Blood Rage doesn’t happen unless their life is threatened. Or that of the ones they love. They don’t attack at random.”

The words take a moment to sink in and for Castiel to parse their meaning. They say: _I trust you_. Now if only Castiel was sure that he trusts himself. It’s still surprising enough that he trusts Dean.

He remembers Dean’s arm around him, yesterday, while Cas asked him to punish him. He wishes he’d have had the presence of mind to enjoy it. But his mind had been muddled and dark, the past closer than the present.

Today is different. Today, he is here.

And Dean, well, Dean might be willing to oblige him. Because for some reason, Dean’s scent changes to happy when Cas’ scent shows his own happiness, no matter how little Castiel deserves it.

So instead of answering, he slides out of his perfect posture, lets his body weight shift to the left, closer to Dean, to his warmth, to his arms. He bites his lip as he looks up at him. Dean reads him well, even when Castiel doesn’t speak.

It’s no different today. Dean’s eyes narrow for a moment, trying to figure him out. Then his eyes start smiling, even if his mouth doesn’t follow. But he shifts his weight, too, so that he’s not leaning on his arms anymore, but can instead hold one of them out for Castiel to crawl underneath.

Which he doesn’t have to be asked twice to do. He tucks himself into Dean’s shoulder, his head leaning against Dean’s chest.

Which is why he can feel Dean’s quiet chuckle like the rumble of an earthquake. “I could get used to this.”

‘Me, too,’ thinks Castiel as he soaks up Dean’s warmth.

 

It’s less problematic than he thought, fighting Jo. It brings up less memories than fighting with Dean and it’s easy enough to stay in the present. Maybe because she isn’t an Alpha. Maybe because she keeps annoying him, taunting him and making the crowd of onlookers laugh.

He tries to shake it off, immediately recognizing it as the tactic that it is, but when he manages to catch Dean’s expression out of the corner of his eyes, he is never laughing with the others. But even though he obviously has to fight to keep his face from taking on a thunderous expression, he stays quiet and lets the fight run its course. Of course he’s as aware as Castiel that this is how the pack spars. They joke and they mock and they fight and as soon as there’s an outside danger, they stand together with unfailing loyalty.

Sam and Benny have taken their places left and right from Dean. Castiel doesn’t know whether it should worry him or not and he can only spare so much of his awareness for the group. From what he manages to catch, Benny is more engaged, pointing things out to Dean. Castiel can’t decipher what he says but sometimes he has an idea what it might be.

A turn that he shouldn’t have been able to make because Jo is also fast. An elbow to her ribcage that has her staggering back. A lucky kick that almost sweeps her off her feet.

They break apart after every fast move, after every hit that connects. There’s never a real flow to their moves because of it, and they’re both sweating and have been out of new ideas for a while by the time Jo lands a solid strike that has Cas tumbling to his knees. She is fast then, pushes her knee into his shoulder and he is on his back, the stick he’d used for a weapon clattering out of his hand to show his submission.

Jo is out of breath but she laughs and holds out her hand to pull him up. After a heartbeat’s hesitation, he lets her.

“That was fun,” Jo nods. “We should do it again.”

To his own surprise, Castiel can’t find a flaw in the statement. This was definitely more challenging than the dishes, and part of him had enjoyed it. “If Dean allows it,” he agrees.

Jo snorts. “Dude, have you have even noticed the way he stares at you when you fight? Guy’s halfway to devouring you and you haven’t even taken your shirt off.”

That leaves Castiel both speechless and from the way his face suddenly heats blushing even more than the exercise accounts for.

Jo dissolves into peals of laughter before patting him on the back. “Come on, Cas, let’s go get our critique.”

She strides over towards Benny with confident steps.

Benny raises an eyebrow at her, even though he smiles. “No need to look so smug, Harvelle. I have the same advice that I always have. You let yourself be taken off guard because you find the fight fun and you revel in making your moves pretty instead of efficient.”

“Took him down, didn’t I?” Jo shrugs. “And he knocked Dean on his ass.”

Castiel cringes but Dean snorts. “And he’d have had you on your ass, too, had Cas treated it as a serious fight. I appreciate it by the way, Cas, that you didn’t.”

Benny makes an unconvinced noise. “We gotta find a middle ground for that. I mean, if I have it my way I’m gonna test Cas against every single one of our fighters to see where he needs improvement. But if you actually want him to be useful in a real fight,” Benny turns to Dean, “he’s gonna have to learn how to deal with actual danger.”

“Team work, too,” Sam pitches in. “A coordinated attack or defense.”

“Nag nag nag,” Dean grumbles. “Y’all didn’t learn everything in a day, either.”

“Beats doing the laundry, though, huh, Cas?” Jo punches him in the back again and saunters off.

It’s disconcerting at the very least, the camaraderie. Though if he’s honest, he has to admit that it isn’t new. It’s just the first time that Castiel isn’t running away from it. Much, anyway. He looks at Dean, question in his eyes.

“Yeah, go do your thing,” Dean nods.

Castiel gives him a fleeting smile and even makes the effort to include Sam and Benny in it before he walks off. The rest of the laundry won’t do itself. And he needs a break from using his words.

 

Not that he gets one. And it’s partially his own fault. Twice, someone catches him off guard with a joke and he smiles back. One time, he even has his mouth open to snark back before he catches himself.

It doesn’t go unnoticed, either. In fact, there’s a sense of relief at every fire that he turns to today. Like they’ve all been waiting for this.

Which makes no sense.

Castiel had made very sure that he’d never given a sign of being capable of anything beyond the tasks assigned to him. So they couldn’t have waited.

He beats another piece of linen into submission after taking it out of the hot water over the small fire where he’d put all of the things that needed soap. Scrubbing is not his favorite. It wrinkles his skin and he’s got to make sure that he doesn’t accidentally rip open his fingers and bleed all over the freshly washed laundry. In comparison, he actually likes stitching better. Though that will have to wait until everything is dry.

“Hey Cas.”

The voice is friendly but Castiel still freezes.

“No worries, it’s just me.”

Castiel relaxes a little and goes back to scrubbing the linen undergarment. He nods, though, to acknowledge that he’s heard Sam.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Sam continues. “Can I sit?”

Castiel nods jerkily. Not that he could stop Sam from sitting or asking.

“Thanks.” Sam folds his huge frame into something that’s almost normal human sized. He pokes at Cas’ small fire for a moment before looking up at him. “Dean’s told me that you two talked. About, you know, him not owning you. And I was just wondering - how are you coping with that?”

Castiel frowns and stops in his motions while he thinks about the question. “Tasks need to be done,” is what he finally answers. It’s more than he’d usually say to Sam. But then, Sam usually doesn’t ask him questions, either.

“I can see that,” Sam nods but judging from the way he fidgets it’s not the answer he wanted. And indeed, he takes another deep breath and starts anew, “Look, Cas, I’ve watched Dean and you for a good few months now, and it’s pretty plain to see how he…”

Castiel stops his work completely, turning towards Sam because everything about that raises his hackles.

“And I’m not so sure that it is entirely appropr-, umm,” Sam falters as soon as Castiel’s eyes are on him.

“It’s not your decision.” And Castiel hadn’t known that his voice could hold this much determination, even though it still refuses to get loud. “What the Alpha does with me is not your concern.”

Because yes, he can understand that Sam disapproves. That he’s worried because Cas is overstepping bounds and Dean is behaving like that’s a good thing. Like he likes Castiel. Like the two of them have forged a bond that should never have happened. And he’ll accept it when the Alpha finally notices it and changes things back. But it’ll have to be the Alpha himself, not his brother.

“Geez, Cas, no need to growl.” Sam holds his hands up in surrender.

To Castiel’s shock, the minute Sam says it, he notices it himself. He had been growling. Shit. As lenient as Dean is, as much as Castiel has gotten away with in his time here, Dean is fiercely protective of his brother. As he should be.

So Castiel cowers. Makes himself small, turns his palms outward, shows his throat. It’s all he can do really. Apart from berating himself because the past few days have been so confusing that he’s forgotten himself to a degree that he never thought possible.

“Uhh, right,” Sam scratches his head. He doesn’t sound disturbed so much as puzzled. “Cas, can we just talk for a second? Like, without all this bullshit getting in the way?”

What the hell? Castiel is too taken aback to keep his submissive posture. Instead he squints at Sam in puzzlement.

Sam seems to take it as acquiescence to whatever he was asking and breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Cas. You know, it’s kind of difficult for me, for the whole pack really, to get to know you. What with you not answering and stuff. Which makes it kinda hard to figure out that thing between you and Dean. And you know, don’t even say there’s not a thing. Cause there totally is.”

Castiel frowns at Sam. Everyone has gotten more complicated lately.

“Can’t you just, like, pretend that I’m an Omega or something? Would that help?”

Cas is probably staring at Sam now like he’s insane. “But you aren’t,” he points out.

“Yeah, no, I know. But you gotta – you’d be talking to other Omegas, right?”

“If the Alpha allows?” He makes it a question because Master Crowley had definitely not been a fan of Castiel talking to anyone. He’d been scared Castiel would teach them things, Cas guesses.

Sam snorts a short laugh. “Dude, this is Dean we’re talking about.” He perks up. “You talk to him, don’t you?”

Castiel bites his lip but he nods. It’s the Alpha who insists on talking after all.

“Do you like him?”

Castiel can’t help it, he stares at Sam flabbergasted.

“Hey, I’m just asking. Cause I know he likes you but he’s also an Alpha.” Sam shrugs like that explains everything. “So, do you? Like him?”

“Why?” It’s not a question he ever asks or ever is supposed to ask but none of this makes even a lick of sense.

“Because one,” Sam counts on his fingers, “I’ve never seen him have a reaction to anyone as strong as he had to you when he saw you at Crowley’s. Two, he’s been enamored with you ever since. And three, now he knows that on top of everything else, you can fight. You wanna know how Dean’s described his perfect mate ever since we were pups? Cause believe me, the description fits. You’re his dream come true.” Sam chuckles but then his face becomes serious. “He’s still gonna let you go. If that’s what you want. In fact, he’s been unpacking the maps of the mountains, in a season when we should be finding more temperate shores. So I’m guessing we’re gonna be on our way to Angels’ Nest tomorrow.” He breaks off, scent changing to worry, and voice a lot more hesitant when he starts up again. “Cas, if that’s what you want – you need to tell him. Fast. At the latest, when we’re at the sanctuary. Cause Dean – he’s an Alpha, but his heart isn’t very well guarded. And the longer you stay, the more attached he’s going to become.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says helplessly.

“I care about my brother, Cas. He can be a jerk, but I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“He’s not a jerk.” The reaction is instinctual before the rest of Sam’s sentence makes it through. He swallows hard. “I wouldn’t hurt him. The fight, it was – I knew he could take me down.”

Sam’s face turns into a frown. “Is that why you didn’t want Dean’s knives near?”

Castiel averts his eyes. He’d expected Dean to have told. At least Sam and Benny. They always know his strategic decisions. “I’d never intentionally hurt him,” he amends. “But I’m not going to take any risks.”

“Hmm,” Sam seems to think about that for a moment before he nods. “Not what I was talking about anyway. I got faith in Dean where it concerns physical fights. Just not so much where it concerns matters of the heart.”

“I’m an Omega,” Castiel emphasizes because somehow it seems that everyone but him keeps forgetting that. “He is the Alpha. I can’t hurt him.”

“Uhh, right,” Sam mutters. “Just, think about everything you know of Dean. Think about how he interacts with you. And then, you know, maybe you want to rethink that stance, Cas.”

Sam claps him on the back before he goes, leaving Castiel alone with the laundry and his thoughts.

 

It’s already turning dark by the time Castiel has managed to hang the rest of the laundry on the lines that he’s put up between the wagons. He’s made an effort to avoid everyone but it’s not really working. They greet him and they joke with him and it feels utterly confusing.

Not as horrible as it was in the beginning, though. He knows them better now. Their faces still show relief when they talk to him. Like they feel better about him after he’s fought Dean and Jo. Like they know his standing in comparison to them now.

Which makes no sense.

Apart from where it makes total sense. Because they’re a hunter pack and they don’t keep slaves. Missouri volunteers that bit of information. “They don’t like it, treating someone like they don’t exist. It’s not their way. You’ll get used to being a person.”

An oddly comforting sentence, somehow.

Her next sentence is less comforting, though. “Go sit with him!” And then she nudges him in the direction of Dean’s fire.

Where Dean is sitting, yes, but he isn’t alone. It’s too early for Castiel to join. And he doesn’t even have an excuse like bringing Dean his food. No, the only bowl clutched in his hands is his own.

He should find a space to the side. Out of the way, like he is used to. Near the horses maybe. He isn’t friends with the dogs, since Crowley’s he doesn’t trust dogs anymore. But the horses are different. They are friendly. Even Dean’s big black stallion comes over to let Castiel scratch his nose.

But of course, Castiel’s feet betray him and bring him in the direction of Dean’s fire after all. Hesitantly, he stops a few feet away, for once glad that his approach doesn’t go unnoticed, since that will relieve him of the burden of making a decision.

“Heya, Cas. You’re early today.” Dean’s smile is as radiant as always. “Why don’t you sit down and eat here? I was just bragging about your fighting skills.”

“You really knocked him off his feet?” The redhead next to Dean grins broadly. “Wouldn’t have thought you had it in you. And I don’t mean the technical fighting skills.”

Castiel feels himself blushing to the roots of his hair and chooses the spot on the far side of the fire, where Dean is a barrier between him and Charlie and Benny. Sam’s nowhere to be seen tonight.

“Well, still waters are deep and shit,” Charlie wiggles her eyebrows and takes another spoonful of her stew. “But goddamn, I wish I had seen that. Why do I always miss the cool stuff?”

“Because someone has to scout ahead,” Dean says drily.

“Oh yeah,” Charlie agrees easily, “I guess there’s that. Which, you know, all clear towards the mountain path. Doesn’t bring us by any big cities, though. Is there anything urgent on the shopping list?”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “Would like to get some assorted pieces of armor for Cas eventually. But we’ve barely scratched the surface. We gotta work our way through all the weapons and styles, see what Cas likes best.”

“Get him something light,” Benny chimes in. “Leathers only. Can’t weigh the boy down with metal armor. Might wanna try out the bow and arrow, though. If he’s graceful climbing trees, he could be an asset to your group,” he nods at Charlie.

She chuckles. “I’m not against it. Have a feeling though that the chief’s gonna be rather fond of having his mate close instead of up in a tree.”

“Charlie!” Dean scolds her. “We’ve talked about this.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “So you’re saying I’m wrong? I’ll get that bow and arrow first thing in the morning.”

Dean growls lowly and when he answers his voice is tight. “You’re not wrong. Still, get your bow in the morning, see whether you can teach him.” Dean turns around to Castiel. “If you’re up for it, that is. If you find them as obnoxious as I do, feel free to tell me and I’ll order them to bugger off.”

Both Charlie and Benny snicker, Dean’s threats nothing that they’re taking too seriously.

Castiel on the other hand isn’t sure what to say. “I haven’t – I was a child when I last held a bow.”

“No worries,” Charlie nods. “You can’t be less talented than this oaf here.” She pokes Benny in the ribs.

“I’ll take my sword over a delicate thing like a bow any day, thank you very much,” Benny grumbles.

“It’s definitely less dangerous to the rest of us,” Charlie points out. “He’s managed to accidentally shoot Garth before.”

“Who says it was an accident,” Benny mutters.

“Guys,” Dean breaks in. “Peace, please.”

“Why’d you have to make her captain, too. Would be peaceful if she was at a different fire.”

“Because I’m good at what I’m doing,” Charlie grins. “That’s why. And our fatalities have gone down since we have a coordinated row of bows.”

“Peace!” Dean repeats. “You’re both valuable to me and the pack. There’s no need to bicker.”

They both harrumph at that.

“Lazy days aren’t good for you, I think,” Dean shakes his head. “We’ll give it another day and then we’ll move on. Since all is clear, we’re setting path towards the pass of the silver lake. Go tell the others.”

Both Benny and Charlie look up.

“So you really plan on bringing us deep into the mountains,” Charlie says thoughtfully.

“And right in time for the first snow,” Benny adds.

“I’m aware,” Dean nods. “All the more important that we set out soon. It’s not negotiable, either. Go, tell the others.”

“As you wish,” Charlie mumbles though she looks less than pleased.

Benny gets up, too, with a shake of his head and an unwilling look on his face.

Once they’re gone, Dean and Castiel sit in silence. Dean chews on the last few spoonful of his stew but Castiel isn’t hungry anymore.

“Don’t…,” his voice as usual doesn’t want to cooperate and he has to take a second try. “Don’t lead them there on my account.”

“Hmm?” Dean turns around to him.

“The mountains. They are dangerous in winter. I would not want to see anyone hurt because of me.”

Dean’s face draws into a frown. “What do you know of where we’re going?”

Castiel flinches sbut he answers. “Your brother. He said we were going to a sanctuary. That you were leading us there because of, umm, me.” It sounds ridiculous, saying it out loud like this. A whole pack on the move because of one Omega.

But Dean doesn’t laugh at him. He frowns some more, though. Then he shrugs. “Guess I should have known he’d figure it out. Sammy’s always been smart. Not really fair play to tell you before I could tell you, though.”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel repeats.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “I know. But we’ll still go. We’ll make sure we get there before fall ends, so that we can make it out of the mountains before the winter turns bitter.”

“Why?” Castiel dares to ask. “I’ve already – I’ve already decided.” He’d thought he’d made that clear. That first night when they’d slept curled up into each other.

“Cause you know nothing else, Cas.” Dean’s scent turns sad but his face is determined. “I’m trying pretty hard to be a good Alpha. I think I run a decent pack. I make sure everyone’s fed and clothed. That there’s medicine when someone gets sick and wine when there’s a celebration. I know that this is better than what you’re used to. I mean, I saw you at…” There’s a growl in Dean’s voice and he breaks off. “So yeah, I get it, Cas. Why you wouldn’t hesitate to bind yourself to me and this pack. But it’s still – I still bought you. And the choice I give you is still just in theory. Because you’ve got no idea whether there isn’t something better waiting for you. And unless I show you that there is, that you could live away from us and be safe, then – then your choice isn’t really a choice at all.”

Castiel swallows hard. Still, he asks. “What do you want me to do? At the sanctuary?”

Dean closes his eyes for a long moment as if the words come as slowly to him now as they usually come to Castiel. “A group of them will come out to trade with us. Either Gabriel or Balthazar will probably be among them. They founded the sanctuary. And they usually don’t miss any opportunity to mess with me.”

“And then?” Castiel asks, unable to keep a sudden fear out of his voice.

“I’ll give them your papers. And I’ll send you with them. Whatever else happens, it’ll be my last act as the Alpha who bought you.”

“You expect me to go with a stranger?” Castiel asks, frightened.

“Gabriel’s a good guy. Underneath everything. So is Balthazar.” Dean doesn’t sound like it gives him any comfort, though. “If we make good way, I gather we’ll have half a moon that we can spend there before we need to go back. So that’s what we’ll do. We’ll wait for half a moon. If you-,” Dean clears his throat. “If in that time, you come back, it’ll be as a free man. We’ll take you in as one of our own. A hunter, like the rest of us. If you decide against us, well, I guess, we’ll know, too.”

All of that is big and new and it doesn’t want to fit in Castiel’s mind quite yet. The only thing he knows is that Dean’s left out something that he needs to know. “And you and me?” he asks quietly.

Dean’s smile is fleeting, tinged with the sadness of loss. “Should you come back, we’ll talk again.”

That night, Castiel sleeps restless, the word _mate_ flitting around his brain like a sun-drunk bee.


	2. Angels' Nest

****The next day, Charlie takes him shooting. He’s not all that good at judging distances and wind-speeds but years of performing tasks while trying not to be noticed has at least taught him how to keep his muscles flexed and his hands steady. So he adjusts to the unfamiliar motions well enough and Charlie seems satisfied with his progress. At the very least, she calls him “not hopeless”.

After that, the pack alternates training with him. Jo goes hand to hand with him and she might be shorter than him, but she’s wiry and fast. Benny teaches him knife fighting techniques, though at Cas’ insistence they still use wooden stand-ins for that. Charlie teaches him shooting. Ellen decides he needs experience with a staff, too, so she joins in as well. The only one who keeps himself to watching is Dean.

Castiel isn’t sure what he thinks about that. The thought of sparring with Dean sets a low fire burning in his gut that is both anxious and excited. It’s a confusing feeling, so he pushes it aside and avoids asking Dean about it.

He has enough trouble keeping up with the regimen as is, anyway. They’re descending on him like a murder of crows, everyone wanting to teach him. And they don’t keep it to fighting skills, either. Missouri, who was already happy with his skills as a gatherer, adds to his tasks and sends him out with Garth to check the traps and learn how to lay them. He would enjoy these outings, too, if his muscles weren’t sore and if Garth wasn’t as touchy-feely as he is.

As the days go on, it becomes clearer that there is a certain franticness to the teaching, a grim determination in everyone’s faces like they’re making up for lost time or fear that they will run out of time. So they all know where Dean is leading them, then. It makes Castiel’s guts clench, but at the same time he appreciates what they’re doing. They’re trying to pass all their knowledge on to him in as short a time as they can, giving him what they can for whatever life he chooses.

It boggles his mind, the thought of having a choice how his life will look like. It’s too big for him to grasp. So for the time being, Castiel tries to give back to the pack by pushing himself until he’s almost past his limits and consoling himself with the thought that what he learns is useful in any case.

Unless… Unless of course life makes him a slave again. He notices it, every day, how that training slips further away from him. How it becomes normal to smile. How he forgets to make himself small when passing someone else. It stirs an unrest in him that he counters by working at his skills even harder.

Thus, in the evenings, Castiel is exhausted. Much more exhausted than he had been before all of this. It’s oddly satisfying, even beyond the feeling of accomplishment he gets whenever he gets an approving nod from Benny or a clap on the shoulder and a “well done” from Charlie.

He can see it, too, how he starts getting a handle on his own skill and strength. There’s a routine to the movements, like there are steps to a dance. Knowing the steps calms his mind, and as the days pass without incident, without him losing memories even once, he slowly relaxes and starts trusting his skills. As a consequence, Benny allows longer fight sequences to play out, instead of having them break after every move.

It makes Castiel – proud. It’s a new feeling. One that doing the dishes does not give him. One that he’s sure he’s never felt at Crowley’s, either.

_Well done, Castiel. You get better at this every time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you manage to keep yourself almost free of blood these days…_

Castiel shudders at the memory. No, definitely no sense of pride there, just nausea.

He’s shakes himself out of it, glad that the day is over and he doesn’t have to feign enthusiasm for more socializing.

Instead, he plops down next to Dean, shielded by him from whatever conversation is going on at their fire. Dean never explicitly excludes him from the talks at their fire, but he doesn’t expect him to keep up with them, either. So Castiel can sit and let the exhaustion wash over him. Which he does, slumping down in a sloppy posture, relieved to sit and not move. It is good, though, the exhaustion cleaner somehow than when it was coupled with despair.

Dean shuffles a little closer, possibly not even a conscious gesture, but enough that Castiel’s side ends up against Dean’s back. He leans into the touch ever so softly, provoking a pleased grumble from the Alpha, even though Dean doesn’t react otherwise.

Like most of these days, Dean and Sam are pouring over maps, plotting out their routes for the next few days, figuring out where they need to scout ahead and where it is safe to travel on without extra precautions.

Castiel has no more than a basic understanding of all things paper, though he’s snatched up a few things as a pup. He figures the maps out soon enough, though. The little wiggles and lines are supposed to be a bird’s eye view of their surroundings. He’s never learned to read so he can’t tell what the things that are scribbled down on the map mean but after a while he can attach names to a few of the marks. Angels’ Nest being the first and foremost among them.

Castiel’s heart does a weird uncomfortable flip every time he looks at their destination and he isn’t upset when the progress Sam indicates that they’ve made that day seems marginal, or when they have to take a break to get a few additional provisions from a market in a small town nearby.

It seems to worry Dean, though, the line around his mouth becoming harder as the temperatures at night drop. Castiel does his best to distract him from it and keep him warm, snuggling close whenever he can.

Then one morning the grass has a sheet of frost on it and the air around Castiel’s nose is turning into mist and even with the fire, his bones don’t want to warm up.

“Shit. It’s cold.” Dean sits up from where he’d been sleeping but keeps the bearskin around himself. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“I am,” Castiel nods. His summer tunic has become woefully inadequate in the past week.

“Then come back under here.” Dean holds open one side of the bearskin for Castiel.

“It’s almost time to pack up,” Castiel says but he obediently crawls back under the cover.

“Almost, yes,” Dean agrees and draws Castiel closer.

It makes him blush, even though they share body heat every night. But it’s different somehow when it’s day and people are already up and about. It never ceases to amaze him that Dean would want to be close and wouldn’t care what anyone else thought about it.

“You need to wear that winter tunic,” Dean frowns when he notices how cold Castiel’s arms are. “I got it for you for a reason.”

Castiel presses himself a little closer in reply.

Dean huffs at the deflection. “Is it the wagon? Do you not want to be in there alone? I can come with you if it makes you feel safer.”

It would be easy, saying that. Dean knows that Castiel still doesn’t like being around the weapons. Oh, he trusts himself more than he did, the amount of practice he’s getting giving him confidence. But he doesn’t want to risk anything. Anything goes missing from Dean’s or Sam’s chests and Castiel has been seen alone in the wagon? He doesn’t want to find out the reaction. Still, there’s more to it than even that.

“It’s a very good tunic,” he mumbles.

“It’ll keep you warm,” Dean nods.

And that’s not what Castiel had been getting at. “Benny makes me train every day. There’s a lot of – falling involved.”

It takes a moment but then Dean chuckles. “Don’t you worry, Cas. None of our clothes look any better. Some wear and tear is to be expected.”

‘But the tunic’s a gift from you,’ Castiel wants to say. He doesn’t though because he knows that tunics aren’t made to be stared at, but to be worn.

Dean nudges him in the shoulder. “The best tunics are the ones you actually wear, you know?”

And that’s so close to his thoughts, yet so much friendlier that it makes Castiel smile. He hides his face against Dean’s shoulder before whispering “thank you” into his side.

Dean chuckles some more and leans in close.

Castiel doesn’t protest when Dean leads him to get his winter clothes later. He’s never worn anything softer and if the look of adoration in Dean’s eyes is anything to go by, the blue of the tunic does go with his eyes indeed.

 

Another week and the mountains are towering above them. They’ve seen them looming whenever they were out of the forest for a while now but it’s different when you’re this close.

Castiel’s eyes keep being drawn up from where he’s walking next to one of the pack horses, even though the steely gray and the steep inclines make him shiver every time. He draws his cloak faster around himself but the additional warmth doesn’t seem to help.

“They are not evil, even if they seem to be cruel creatures in winter,” Missouri says.

When he turns towards her, her eyes are following the edges and ridges of the mountain range as well.

“I am not born in mountain country and they will never be my home, but they provide shelter for many.” Missouri lets her eyes drop and find his. Her smile is supposed to be encouraging but it doesn’t help.

Castiel looks past the forest and the meadows and up the steep rock face doubtfully. It doesn’t seem like a hospitable place to him.

“You wouldn’t be unhappy here, Castiel,” Missouri continues softly. “You’d live a good life, your skills welcomed and cherished, your company treasured. You’d find friends and equals here.”

“But?” Castiel asks.

Missouri’s smile deepens before she turns away, her eyes now following their small caravan to its beginning, where Dean’s black stallion and Charlie’s dun-colored mare are walking next to each other, their riders discussing the road and pointing ahead. “You already know the answer to that question.”

Castiel clears his throat and averts his eyes. It is Dean who’s sending him away after all.

“He can’t promise you the same security they can offer. Even though - and you should never doubt that - he wants to.” Missouri’s voice is grave. “He’s doing right by you, giving you this choice. You owe it both to him and to yourself not to take this decision lightly.”

In response, Castiel wraps his coat around his arms tighter because he’s shivering again, and Missouri lets him be.

In truth, Castiel couldn’t take this decision lightly even if he wanted to. He’s never had the power to make a decision about his life before, and the thought that he has it now frightens him to no end. There’s absolutely nothing light about it.

It’s been settling in on everyone’s faces in the past week, too. The higher the mountains loomed, the more things the pack found that they think he desperately needs to know. They went as far as asking him whether he knows how to ride, so that they could get in some training while the wagons slowly roll on and then catch up fast riding the horses.

Dean’s put an end to that one fast, though. “It’s dangerous territory. Teach him when we break for the night. No splitting up the pack unless it is desperately necessary.”

Castiel also sees the worried glances that everyone’s started sending towards Dean as the days progress and Dean grows quieter. Not many of them are brave enough to make an attempt to talk to Dean about it, instead there are harried whispers with Sam when they think Dean won’t notice. Sam does his best to calm them down but it is hard not to see how worried his own eyes are.

Castiel isn’t sure what he can do about it. A month or two ago, he wouldn’t have thought he’d be able to have any impact on their pack at all. And now, he’s seen the mood shift twice because of him, and both times he’s helpless to change it.

He’s got no idea what to do or say to Dean, either.

Every night, Dean talks less but holds him a little tighter. Every morning, Castiel finds him awake watching him. Like he’s trying to memorize every detail of Castiel’s face. Like he’s already saying goodbye.

When he notices, Castiel presses himself closer. Hides his face in Dean’s chest and lets their warmth mingle until the outside cold has no hold over them for the moment. Until their little cave within their bearskin is all that exists in the world. At least until the morning gets too bright to ignore it and they have to get up to get going.

It’s the only thing Castiel can do. He knows why Dean is sending him away and he knows that he’s going to go.

But after that, it’s a void. A place he can’t imagine, filled with strangers that have no face. He doesn’t know what they’ll do with him, even though he trusts Dean not to send him into danger on purpose. But if he’s learned anything in his life, then it’s never to assume a favorable outcome. So his own heart grows heavier, too, with every day that they get closer to their destination.

So, maybe it’s not only Dean who needs the comfort of their shared warmth to keep going.

 

Then one day, they reach a clearing next to a steep rock face. Dean doesn’t have to tell the pack to make camp, apparently they’ve been here before, because they start herding the horses to build a corral immediately. They build it near the cliff face, where there is at least some shelter against the bitter winds.

Charlie stops next to him. “It’s up that way.” She points to something that doesn’t look like more than a few loose stones in the failing daylight. “But I wouldn’t recommend trying to climb that path without invitation. You won’t get far.”

Castiel looks further up and he can see why. The mountain stays steep, but there are plenty opportunities to hide higher up, while down here they are completely exposed. Even now, in there circle of wagons, anyone with a bow from above could take them out. It’s almost like he can feel the unseen eyes on them.

Charlie has followed his line of view. “Yeah, they’ve noticed us a day or so ago. There’s someone up there watching us right now. I’m kind of hoping they’ll take nicely to your presence and don’t think we bought you for real.” Her face turns into a worried frown while she scans the mountainside. Then she sighs. “Ah well, nothing to be done about it. They’ll be here tomorrow.” She squeezes Castiel’s shoulder and then goes to prepare her bed for the night.

Castiel stays in place for a moment longer, staring up. The mountains are not evil, Missouri keeps repeating that whenever she sees him shudder in their shadow. It’s not that, though. Even now, he feels no maliciousness. Not from the mountain and not from whoever is observing them.

But no maliciousness is not the same as happiness.

He stares at the mountain path.

“You’ll have to do this on your own. Dean can’t come, you know that, right?”

This time, it’s Missouri who’s found her way to his side.

Castiel nods. Dean has explained it to him, after all, that no one but Omegas is allowed up to the citadel.

“And you know why it’s important that you actually go?”

“So that I can come back,” Castiel says, and he even manages to put in a teasing undertone. He’s getting better at that, modulating his voice beyond the effort of getting the words out.

“Smartass,” Missouri chuckles. “But I wanted an actual answer.”

“It mostly was,” Castiel turns serious again. “An actual answer.”

Missouri contemplates that before she nods. “Alright, I’ll let it count. Dean dragged you out of a bad place the last time you joined us. This time, when you’re up there, if you leave, you’ll leave a good place. And you’ll leave it because you want to be here. Because you want to be with us. It makes a difference. To him and to you and to the rest of us.”

Her eyes have turned soft towards the end and as usual when she talks to him like this, Castiel draws his coat tighter around himself. The knowledge in her eyes makes him feel more vulnerable than any belt has ever managed. Still, he nods. He understands what Dean is doing. Understands why everyone approves. He can’t help it that the thought of climbing this mountain and making this decision makes him feel slightly sick regardless of that knowledge.

“Cas?” Missouri touches his arm and pulls his attention back to her. “I’m glad that you’re a smartass. It means you’re ready. You can do this. I know it.”

He doesn’t feel ready but she’s already turned away to set up the kitchen.

Castiel stares after her, then back at the mountain, then he decides to firmly forget about the morning. He has one more night with them. One more night with Dean. So he’s going to make the most out of it, and let whatever comes tomorrow be in the future for now.

Dragging out the furs that he and Dean sleep on and under, and building a fire for them takes a while, and by the time he’s done, night has already fallen. It comes quicker every day now, daylight hours increasingly brief.

He just wants to get up to get some food when Dean comes over, a bowl in each hand.

He holds out Castiel’s bowl to him. He takes it, instantly shy. They’ve started eating most of their meals together, but usually it’s still Castiel bringing the food or the both of them going together. Castiel accepts the bowl, blushing maybe, but also moved by the sweetness of the gesture. It is their last night, after all.

“I never got around to teaching you to carve,” Dean says with a sad smile.

Castiel lets his fingers glide over the smooth wood, his bowl still as plain as it was in the beginning. He has thought about it, about carving it. But there was so much to learn and so little daylight left after everything else. “You showed me many other things,” he answers when Dean doesn’t go on.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “And I’m guessing the things the others taught you were more important than this. Still feels – kinda insufficient. I didn’t want to break my promise to you.” He smiles again, a pained smile which never reaches his eyes. Instead, deep lines of mourning are etched into Dean’s face.

Castiel puts his bowl aside then. He’s not one not to finish his food, years of not knowing when he’d be allowed the next meal engrained in him. But if he’s got to decide between his stomach and Dean looking like he’s going to break into little pieces, there’s no question what he’s going to choose.

They never sit far from each other anyway, but now he makes his way even closer into Dean’s space, close enough actually, that with Castiel kneeling in front of Dean, their knees touch.

“Whatcha doing, Cas?” Dean whispers.

Once upon a time, Castiel would have taken it as a sign to stop. To crawl back a step or two and try to disappear into the shadows.

But not tonight. Not when it’s their last night together. Not when there is no tomorrow. Dean hasn’t brought anyone to their fire tonight, either. He wants to spend the time with Castiel just like Castiel wants to spend every minute that he can with Dean, Cas is sure of it.

So he doesn’t allow any doubt to creep into his heart, doesn’t allow anything his mind tells him about their difference in status to distract him. For once, he follows his heart and the consequences be damned.

Instead of shrinking back, Castiel leans forward.

It’s warm and soft when they meet, both their lips chapped from the cold.

Cas retreats the moment he’s made contact, looks at Dean, belatedly asks for his permission.

If Cas thought this might keep Dean from breaking, he’s been wrong, because he looks even more vulnerable than before. His eyes are red and glassy, though they don’t let go of Cas for even a heartbeat.

“Whatcha doing, Cas?” Dean repeats in a whisper but his hand comes up to cup Cas’ neck and Cas follows willingly when Dean pulls him close.

This time, it lasts longer, and other things register in Cas’ brain.

That Dean’s lips are warm and soft, but that his stubble is scratchy against Cas’ skin. That Dean’s breaths stutter slightly when Cas brings up a hand to Dean’s chest. That when he puts his other hand around Dean’s shoulder, Dean follows his guidance as willingly as Cas had followed his, pressing them together, sharing both their breath and the warmth of their skins.

They kiss until Castiel can’t tell their scents apart anymore and his breath comes in short little gasps. Dean stops then, even though he’s panting, too, as affected as Castiel. But all he does is keep a grip on Castiel’s neck and let their foreheads rest together.

It doesn’t take long after that, until Castiel can feel his breathing start to shudder and break. When he leans away far enough to be able to look at Dean, his eyes are scrunched shut, wetness dripping out of them that he wipes away harshly. He stubbornly refuses to look at Castiel after that. But that night, he clings to Cas as if he’s clinging to dear life.

 

The next morning, they’re both awake early but neither acknowledges it. They stay, unmoving, until the rest of the camp wakes up. Only then do they begin to stir.

They drag their way through their morning routines, delaying every moment until it is impossible to postpone any longer. Anything to spend a few more heartbeats together before they have to separate to go about their days.

The moment comes too soon, still. “No practice today. There won’t be time,” Dean says quietly.

Cas nods, he’s thought as much.

“And if I – umm, could I have the key to your chest? I promise all of your stuff is going with you, it’s just…”

He breaks off but Cas wouldn’t have needed an explanation anyway. He draws the cord over his neck and hands it to Dean.

“Thanks. I’ll, umm, I guess I’ll see you later?” And with that, Dean turns around and all but flees their resting place.

Cas follows him with his eyes until he disappears towards the wagons, but then he concentrates back on the task at hand. His own scent will show saltwater just as Dean’s does. It is no use to pretend otherwise. Though it’s possible that his own scent reacts more stoic than the Alpha’s.

Castiel snorts a soft unhappy laugh. One thing that being what he is and having been under harsh Masters has taught him. To keep his feelings in a tight ball inside of him and not let them shine.

Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them. He thinks, people forget that sometimes. Maybe, he himself had forgotten it for a while there.

But now, when he brings order into their furs he caresses each one of them, seeing how he might not feel their softness again. It’s a comfort that he knows that Dean will wrap the bearskin around himself tonight like he does every night, but the goodbye still tugs at his heart.

“It’s my decision, I can come back,” he tells himself while he presses his nose into the fur of Dean’s stallion. Somehow, the thought doesn’t help.

Then the horse whinnies and tries to eat his tunic and Castiel has to pull back.

And so, one task at a time, Castiel goes through his morning. One task at a time, one person at a time, he says goodbye.

He doesn’t once say it out loud, and neither do they. But Jo presses a silver amulet into his palm, before she runs off too fast for him to try to give it back, and Charlie gives him a hug that is almost as bad as Garth’s.

It’s stranger than the goodbye from Dean in that he’d expected his heart to grow heavy by that. He didn’t expect the sadness growing in him at the thought of never sparring with Jo again or not getting to smile at Charlie’s snark anymore.

 

The Omegas arrive at lunchtime. It’s a party of four, serious people clad in leather and furs, and they arrive while Castiel was just going to get some food.

“They’ll call for you when it’s time,” Missouri tells him and hands him his bowl. “You have the time to eat.”

Castiel does, too, forces himself to eat spoonful after spoonful while Dean and Sam go to meet the arrivals. They take Jo and Benny as guards, though the two of them stay a few steps behind, not taking part in the conversation.

They’re not talking about him yet, Castiel thinks. It’s the last opportunity for trade before the winter will keep all packs away from the mountains. Whatever the Omegas need, spices or fabrics from the city, that Dean’s traded for there, they’ll be bargaining for it. According to Dean, they usually trade against furs and honey.

_‘It’s good honey, too. Something about the high altitude and the herbs and the bees.’_

The random memory shouldn’t make his eyes start to burn, but it sure does. Frustrated, Castiel shakes his head at himself. If there’s something he should have learned in his life than it is this, to keep his feelings under tight control and not allow them to spill to the outside.

But that was before Dean had changed all the rules.

And now? Now Castiel doesn’t know.

He sees it, the moment when the negotiations are concluded. They shake hands in agreement and the Omegas smile. A little relieved, he thinks, like they didn’t expect the trade to go so well.

He also sees the moment where everything changes. He can’t see Dean’s expression, since he’s got his back turned towards the camp. But the bundle of papers that Dean is handing over is hard to miss. Immediately, the Omegas tense. Enough that the hands of the two guards from the sanctuary twitch towards their weapons.

It’s enough to make Castiel move. He’s not been called, not yet. But if he judges this right, then whatever troubles may arise because the Omegas have a hard time trusting an Alpha, even if they know him, Castiel can nip in the bud. They will have to believe him. He’s the Omega in question after all.

They notice when he’s ten paces out, all conversation stopping and all heads turning. He tries not to crumble under the pressure, to keep his head - maybe not high but also not so low that all he sees is his feet.

He nods at Benny and Jo, trying for a smile that he doesn’t feel. Sam moves to the side a bit, face drawn tight. Cas lets himself sink to his knees in the newly opened space between Sam and Dean. He makes sure that he ends up exactly at Dean’s side. Not in front of him, but also not behind. If any of the Omegas has ever lived outside of the sanctuary, this in combination with his nice clothes should be indication enough that whatever Dean was telling them was the truth. That Dean hasn’t actually purchased a slave to use and abuse.

The man who seems to be in charge of the envoy watches the proceedings with raised eyebrows. “This is most peculiar and unusual, Dean Winchester.”

“It is,” Dean nods, his voice strained and breaking around the edges. He avoids Castiel’s eyes when he continues. “But I can’t give Cas what you can give him.”

“True enough,” the woman to the left says, “but why then this trial period? Winter is closing in. You should not have come at this time of year, much less stay for any extended period of time.”

Cas decides right then and there that he doesn’t like her. “Because I’m a person,” he throws in.

All eyes turn to him and suddenly his mouth is dry as desert sands.

Still, he stares the Omegas down defiantly. “A person gets a choice. Delivering me here and moving on without knowing whether I even want to stay, that is not a choice.”

“Damn right,” Dean nods and for the first time today something like an actual smile spreads on his face.

Predictably, it makes Cas’ heart soar even as the sadness wraps tightly around it. “You taught me that,” he tells Dean earnestly and touches his knee for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Unusual,” the leader of the envoy repeats. “But not unheard of. And you’re right, everyone should get a choice. Even though I cannot see how any Omega would freely choose to live under an Alpha, so I still find the idea somewhat - insane.”

The woman next to him nods in agreement and Castiel has a hard time not growling at them. It’s only because it’s obvious that they don’t know Dean all that well that he keeps his mouth shut. Which is probably for the best. Pissing off the people who are offering him a new home before they’ve even set out is probably not the best idea. 

“Inias! Go with Jo and collect the wares we’re trading for. Samandriel! Go on up before us, tell the others what they need to bring. And while you’re at it, tell them about Castiel here as well.”

“There’s a chest, too,” Dean interrupts. “With Cas’ belongings. It needs to go up with you, too.” He holds the key back out to Castiel.

Cas takes it after a moment of hesitation. Dean lets go so fast that their fingers don’t touch.

“Do you need to say goodbyes?” The leader asks Castiel. “If so, make it quick. We need to be up in the citadel before nightfall.”

“I’ve said my goodbyes.” For the first time in weeks, his voice doesn’t cooperate at all and the sentence comes out strangled.

It seems to be enough though, because the guy nods. “Well then. It is good trading with you, Dean Winchester, even though you’re an Alpha and thus I will never like you.”

“And you, Balthazar, even though you always have been and always will be a jerk. Send my regards to Gabriel.”

“I will,” Balthazar nods and gets up from the ground. The woman at his side gets up with him, so Dean, Sam and Castiel do the same.

Dean touches Cas’ arm then, a feather-light connection. “We’ll be here. For ten days and ten nights at least. A few more if the weather holds.”

“Now, now, Winchester, let him make up his own mind,” the guy – Balthazar tsks.

Dean ignores him, keeping his attention focused on Cas. He raises his hand as if to cup Cas’ face, and for a heartbeat Cas thinks, Dean is going to kiss him again. But then the arm sinks down, the hand never having touched Cas’ face after all. Dean draws his face into a smile, though the pain is clear to see. “May your life be blessed. May the sun warm you and the rain feed you. May the grains grow plenty and the stags be slow. May your life be blessed.”

Abruptly, Dean turns and walks back towards the camp without looking back. He doesn’t give Cas the time to answer the old words of blessing. So instead, Cas mumbles the next words of the blessing to himself, while he watches Dean’s figure disappear between the wagons.

“May you find a pack to protect you and family to love you. May your life be blessed.”

And then, Dean is gone.

 

The way up the mountain path is long and steep. They have given Castiel nothing to carry, citing that they know how to balance on these rocks and he doesn’t. He wants to protest but the longer they climb, the more he agrees with their assessment. He’s sweating just setting one foot in front of the other.

Finally, Balthazar tells the others to move on ahead when they reach a small ledge. It’s not exactly comfortable but it’s wide enough for both of them to sit down.

Castiel does, grateful for the break, but he’s too curious to stay to the back and instead he crawls forward until he has a view straight down. They’ve come up quite a ways already. He can barely make out the camp between the rocks.

“So you’re not afraid of heights. That’s a good start.”

“Dean is,” Cas answers mindlessly.

“Is he now?” Balthazar says. Then he shrugs. “Well, he’d be dead before he gets this high up, so it makes little difference.”

That makes Castiel turn back around after all. This time, he notices that he’s growling but he does nothing to rein it in.

“I see,” Balthazar comments, his body not even tensing. “The little pup is growling to defend his big bad Alpha owner. Guess we have our work cut out for us.”

Castiel growls in earnest at that but Balthazar only laughs.

“Stow the attitude until you’ve seen the place. You’re not the first who came here with the notion that a reasonably nice owner was the best life had in store for them.  And you wouldn’t be the first to change their mind.”

Castiel doesn’t answer that. That’s not what Dean is. That’s not what they are. But he’s got no words for what they are, either. So he refrains from saying anything.

 

They climb the rest of the way together, the others already out of sight. But Balthazar makes sure not to leave Castiel behind, and even though they don’t talk anymore, Balthazar holds out a hand when Castiel has trouble getting over a difficult spot and he shares his water with Castiel, too.

Castiel notices how high up they are, of course, and that they’re closing in on their destination, but still, when the rocks finally give way, Castiel is unprepared for what awaits them.

“Behold, the citadel!” Balthazar declares and sweeps his hands out to both sides.

It is a castle, of sorts, Castiel thinks, though really it is more like a whole city, set into the cliff face, partially into the stone, and surrounded by a wide, sturdy wall. The evening sun is lighting it up and Castiel has no other word for it but beautiful.

“Yeah, told you it wasn’t shabby,” Balthazar grins smugly when he sees Castiel’s stunned face. “Come on, let’s go in.”

Castiel follows Balthazar, who engages in a moment of friendly banter at the gate, and then strides through the city with purposeful steps.

The streets are paved, though there are small trees and garden patches that bring green to the stones and add color to the city. Everything looks clean, what with the paving and no garbage in the streets, and unless they’re passing a few goats or an enclosure of pigs, it smells much sweeter than the cities Castiel is used to. It takes Castiel a while to figure it out why that is.

It smells like – Omegas.

There is no Alpha stench among the sweetness of their scents, no acidity of fear mixed in with their scents, either. It’s just Omegas, content and going about their day without any worry. At least none that is showing in their scents.

People shout out greetings to Balthazar and stop whatever they’re doing to watch them walk. They wear their curiosity openly on their faces, and no one cowers before them, even though Balthazar obviously holds power of some sort.

It is puzzling in every way.

“Come on, let me introduce you to our fearless leader!” Balthazar turns off the street and through a gate into the courtyard of one of the houses. It doesn’t look any different from the houses around it, though Castiel thinks that really all the houses look like rich people live in them. He follows Balthazar into the courtyard. There are more trees here, and a lawn and a fountain.

A man of middle age with sandy blonde hair runs around with a group of children, playing a game that Castiel doesn’t know. He hasn’t had much chance to play games in his life. Not even before.  

When he notices their arrival, the man claps one of the pups on the shoulder and gives them the ball he’d been holding instead of trying another attempt at throwing the ball through what seems to be a loop with a net.

“You’re sweaty and icky,” are the first words Balthazar says when the man comes closer.

“You’re the one who climbed, so I should be saying that to you,” the man chuckles and reaches up to plant a kiss on Balthazar. On the lips, straight in the middle. Then he reaches into his pocket, gets out a piece of licorice and starts chewing on it.

He holds a second piece out to Castiel, who only looks at him with wide eyes.

“It’s an all-Omega sanctuary, honey. It’s to be expected that some of us enjoy each other’s company,” the sandy-haired man smirks. “Like I enjoy the company of this oaf here.” He pats Balthazar on the chest. “You sure about the licorice? None for you? Your loss.” The man shrugs and pockets the twig again.

“Gabriel, I think you broke him,” Balthazar chuckles. “He was responding before.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel says quickly. Because really it is. He doesn’t care whether the two Omegas are kissing and what else they might be enjoying together.

It’s just that his mind is flashing back to yesterday. He can still feel Dean’s lips on his own. And while it had been Castiel who had initiated the kiss, Dean hadn’t tried to put a stop to it. In fact, Castiel is reasonably sure that Dean had enjoyed that as much as him.

Which – it had felt like the most natural thing at the time, but he can’t remember whether there’s ever been an Alpha who actually wanted to kiss him. Most Alphas had wanted him on his hands and knees, ass in the air, and never once wanted to see his face.

Dean on the other hand spends a lot of time looking at Castiel, finding his eyes and holding his gaze. And he’s never once complained that Castiel changed their sleeping arrangements to lie front to front and bury into each other, instead of having Cas’ ass in easy reach.

“You’re not daydreaming about any of us, right?” Sandy-hair says. “Because you know, it could be arranged - but really, we just met. Share a cup of wine and some licorice with a guy first.”

Castiel feels himself blushing to the root of his hair while Balthazar pats Gabriel’s chest. “Unfortunately, I fear he’s not daydreaming about you, Gabe. His thoughts are stuck on Dean Winchester.” Balthazar clucks his tongue disapprovingly.

“You’re crushing on an Alpha? Good God, that’s unfortunate. Was it the freckles or the eyes? No wait, don’t tell me, it was his winning personality.” Gabriel turns back to Balthazar. “And since when does the Winchester pack have Omegas in the first place?”

“They don’t,” Balthazar shrugs. “I mean, they had this one but he’s here now.”

“I see,” the other man frowns. He turns back to Castiel. “I’m Gabriel, by the way.”

It’s only at that moment that the pieces of the puzzle click into place. This is the fearless leader that everyone was talking about? He’s expected a warrior or at least a scholar, someone toughened by life and wizened by age. Not – this.

“And your name is?” Gabriel prompts and stabs his licorice at Castiel.

“Castiel,” Castiel answers dumbly.

“Well, Castiel, welcome to Angels’ Nest. We’ll find you a room and an occupation and you’ll be forgetting about Dean Winchester in no time.”

“I -,” Castiel’s voice breaks, speaking in front of strangers still not a thing he does. Speaking about Dean a thing he does even less. But he forces the words out. “They’re waiting for me. For two weeks.”

Gabriel tilts his head and squints at him. “Why would they do that?”

“It’s a trial period,” Balthazar answers faster than Castiel can find his words. “Far as I understood it, Winchester still believes that it’s wrong to own Omegas. But he wouldn’t mind keeping this one.”

“That’s not -,” Castiel can feel the bile rising inside him at the description but his vocabulary doesn’t match his feelings. “Not how it is,” he finishes lamely.

“Huh,” Gabriel remarks. “Peculiar.” He comes a step closer and observes Castiel with renewed interest. “How is it then?”

_I like Dean. And Dean likes me._

The words are there in his head and they make sense in his head, but saying them out loud, they turn into a mockery. An Alpha who has feelings for an Omega that go beyond fond ownership - it sounds ridiculous when you spell it out loud.

‘ _Not property,_ ’ Dean’s voice reminds him in his mind. _‘Never wanted to own you. Never thought I did._ ’

There’s the phantom feeling of Dean’s arms around him, pressing so much tighter than normal last night, Dean holding him like he never wanted to let him go. And yet, here they are. Castiel bites his lip, wondering whether Dean is thinking of him like he is thinking of Dean.

The thought is ridiculous, too. Dean has things to do, he is the pack Alpha after all. Only there’s a certainty in Castiel that it doesn’t make a difference. That yes, Dean is thinking of him and missing him and that he’ll postpone preparing the furs and laying down to sleep until he drops from sheer exhaustion. Castiel is pretty sure that that’s the exact same way it’s going to go for him tonight, his body and mind already yearning.

But none of these thoughts are anything Castiel wants to share. The only person who has a right to them is himself. And maybe Dean, but even that only if he chooses to share. So his voice is tight and closed off when he answers with a counter question. “A room, you said?”

Gabriel tilts his head in puzzlement, though whether it’s the content of his answer or the fact in itself that Castiel has not answered when Gabriel didn’t expect even that much defiance from an Omega used to being a slave, Castiel isn’t sure. He presses his lips into a hard line. Well, he’s not a slave anymore. In fact, he probably could take this licorice-chewing fearless leader out if he wanted. Not that he wants to. Though weirdly enough, the thought conjures a warm feeling of safety instead of the cold panic that it would have produced a few short months ago.

When Gabriel finally nods, his easy smile has been replaced with a worried frown, though his scent shows no trace of fear. “A room, yes. It’ll be one at the inn for now. They have a few guest rooms for emergencies. Not that we get many travelers. I’m sure you can imagine why.”

Castiel nods tightly and Gabriel acknowledges it silently before continuing.

“The inn keep. Her name is Pamela. She knows that I’m sending you her way.” He stops for a moment as if hesitant to continue. “Tell her to read you.”

Balthazar frowns. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes,” Gabriel replies seriously. “Yes, I think it is.”

“Isn’t it counterproductive, though?” Balthazar argues. “He’s got ten days to make his choice. That’s plenty of time to figure it out without knowing what Pam can tell him.”

The worry on Gabriel’s face does not abate when he looks at Castiel again. He even goes so far to pocket the licorice. “I don’t like it, either. But Castiel, I’m sorry but I think we need to know before we go any further in taking you in.”

The whole exchange leaves Castiel both bewildered and sick to his stomach with worry. Can Gabriel read thoughts? Do they not allow Omegas who have killed into their city? But then, they sounded like they will defend this citadel with any means necessary. Which means that they, too, might have killed. Though of course he’s also afflicted by Omega Rage. Maybe he’s a security risk. But they couldn’t be knowing about that. Unless Dean had told them. But then, how would Gabriel know? It was just Balthazar and Hannah that Dean had talked to. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Gabriel promises. “And it won’t hurt or anything. It’s just – I think we need to know this one early on.” His eyes are still dark with worry and when Balthazar goes to ask a question, he shakes his head and Balthazar breaks off.

At Gabriel’s shrill whistle, the pups who had still been playing run over to them and Gabriel asks the tallest of them whether he could lead Castiel to the inn. The teenager nods and immediately starts running off.

“The chest with my belongings?” Castiel manages to ask, though he feels like he should already be hurrying to follow, not sure whether the pup will wait for him.

“Will be brought to the inn, no worries,” Balthazar assures. “It’ll be at your room waiting for you.”

Castiel nods gratefully and looks back at Gabriel, waiting to be officially dismissed and follow the pup quickly.

Instead of dismissing him, though, Gabriel whistles a second time, effectively calling the pup who’d already been beyond the gate back to them. “Just one more thing. It’s nothing to be decided right now, but it is important and I almost forgot.” He goes over to a side-table near the wall to retrieve a stack of papers. Castiel doesn’t have to take a closer look to know what they are.

“These are yours,” Gabriel explains anyway. “They were given to us for safe-keeping but it is your decision what will happen with them. It would be my personal honor to light a fire in which to burn them. I very much feel like it should be done with all such papers. But your feelings might be different. So I will keep them at a safe place for now and will leave it to you to decide whether to destroy them or just bury them deep enough that they will never be found again.”

“No!” The word is out too fast and too harsh and Castiel has already stretched out his hand and taken two steps forward by the time he notices that he’s moving. “No,” he repeats softer. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll take them myself.”

“Castiel,” Gabriel frowns, taking a step back and holding on to the documents. “You have no need for them here. You don’t need to prove that you belong so you won’t be sold on. No one is ever going to sell or buy you again.”

Castiel shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. “They are _my_ papers. And it’s not your name written on them. You have no right to refuse them to me.” He doesn’t say out loud that he might have need for the proof that he’d been legally bought again. The rules of the world don’t change just because Gabriel and Dean refuse to accept them. 

Gabriel’s head tilts even further to the side. Castiel stands his ground, though, his hand still outstretched for Gabriel to put the documents into.

“You’re free now. Do you even grasp what that means?” Gabriel says desperately.

In all fairness, Castiel probably doesn’t. All he knows is that he is standing in a stranger’s hall and that stranger is holding the papers that prove that he was acquired by Dean. Papers that if he goes back, any local authority can ask to see. That when Dean can’t produce them might lead to Castiel being taken away.

“Give them to me.” He tries to make his voice firm but he’s only got so much in him, and his effort crumbles. “Please,” he adds quieter.

Gabriel takes another moment to look him over but then he sighs and hands the papers over. His face is tight and he obviously dislikes what’s happening.

He knows then, Castiel thinks. Why he wants the papers back. Castiel gets it why he doesn’t approve. But still, this city is about choice, right? So even if Castiel decides on something that they can’t understand or don’t believe in, the choice should be his. “Thank you,” he mumbles and presses the papers against his chest. “Can I go now?”

Gabriel nods. “Godspeed, Castiel.”

Castiel doesn’t think he means the trip to the inn.

 

Pamela is loud and intrusive, but the inn is better accommodations than Castiel’s ever been in. His room is clean and the bed is soft. There’s a wash basin in the room and Pamela has informed him that dinner will be ready in an hour. On top of all of that, his chest already awaits him. He caresses the wood reverently, glad for the bit of familiarity amidst the new.

He’ll have to carve it one day, this chest. He’s thought about it in the past few months, what he would like to carve into it if he could. And whether Dean would help him sketch the patterns, seeing how he is used to writing and drawing where Castiel is not. He wouldn’t want to screw up the design. This chest holds everything that is his in the world, after all, woefully little as it may be.

He finds the key under his tunic and unlocks the chest, just to maybe run a hand over his summer clothes, see whether a trace of his and Dean’s scent combined still clings to it. It might help him get to sleep later tonight.

When he opens the lid, he does a double take. He expects the chest to be mostly empty. It is not. It is filled to the brim.

On top, there are furs, warm and soft. Castiel unpacks them and sinks his face into them for a moment. They smell like fur, they’re not from his and Dean’s bed. They aren’t cut into any shape yet, he can stitch them together to make a vest or put them on his bed for extra warmth at night. 

For now, he puts them aside because there are other things under them. There are leathers, some of them unformed, to be made into what they need to be, some of them already worked into beauty. There are gloves there and bracers for his wrists, the leather hardened and thick enough to divert much of the damage of a lesser hit. He lets his thumbs glide over the intricate patterns etched into them. There’s only one person in their pack who’s this good with etching leather. These are a present from Charlie. His heart grows heavy at the thought that he can’t thank her for it.

Next is a small leather pouch. When he opens it, a gold coin, a couple of silver coins as well as several smaller one fall out. He stares at them flabbergasted. That’s enough to get him through many months if need be. It’s more than the pack can spare, he’s sure, especially with winter on their doorstep. He goes through the coins one by one, looking at their imprinted symbols. They are from every corner of the world.

Suddenly, he knows it clearly. This isn’t pack money. This isn’t even Dean’s money. These are coins that the pack gave to Dean to give on to him. He looks back at the furs. They look like the furs Garth had been preparing the other week. They had each given him what they could spare.

He has to take a minute to collect himself, the sudden emotion clawing at his chest and threatening to overwhelm him.

It’s not like he hadn’t known that they were fond of him. Some of them, he had become almost close to. Missouri. Charlie. Jo. But this. He had never expected this.

Then he sees what is left in the chest, and if he’d thought his heart couldn’t hurt any more, he was wrong. There is a plain wooden bowl and next to it is a knife that he knows well. He’s seen it every day that he’s been with the pack, born at Dean’s belt. His carving knife. With trembling fingers Cas picks it up. Lets his fingers travel over the expensively carved hilt. Takes it out of its richly adorned sheath. Lets a cautious finger glide along the sharpened blade. Castiel has not once seen this knife out of Dean’s reach apart from that one time, when Castiel asked him to take the knives out of play when Dean insisted on testing his fighting skills. He knows the reverence with which Dean cares for both the knife and the leather of its sheath. They are both old, he knows that, too. He’s never asked, but he’s always assumed that the knife is a family heirloom. It carries the same forest scenes in its carvings that Dean himself prefers, though they are different in their execution, their borders more elaborate, their lines softer. Like the same forest scene looked at through an Omega’s eyes instead of an Alpha’s.

His mother’s. Castiel’s breath freezes in his chest. Dean gave him his mother’s knife.

His first reaction is that it can’t be. That he must be coming to the wrong conclusions. But the carvings are still there, and now that he sees the connection, he notices more. Notices where Dean’s tried to copy patterns but hasn’t quite managed the fine detail of the original. Notices, too, where Dean’s hand still produces beauty similar to the one found here. Without a doubt, this is not a coincidence.

Castiel’s eyes blur as the magnitude of this present catches up to him. He knows how dear his mother is to Dean. To give something of hers away…

“I could have learned to carve with a different knife, you… you…” Beautiful idiot. Wonderful man. Infuriatingly kind Alpha. The sentence breaks as a sob wrecks his body. He lets it, seeing how he’s alone right now and he can get the tears out without being judged for them.

Only when he’s cried himself empty and his eyes see clearly again, does he wipe away the remnants of wetness on his cheeks and starts with the chest again. There’s not much left now. As expected, his summer clothes are at the bottom of the chest. There is one more thing, though. A piece of paper. Castiel picks it up. He’s not sure what he expects. Whatever it was, it’s not words. But there are words written on the paper, and they are written in Dean’s curly handwriting. Immediately, Castiel longs to know what they say. But of course, he has no way of finding out. Not on his own, anyway. He’ll have to go and ask someone who in this city can read. There must be someone, he thinks, even if out there Omegas aren’t allowed. But Dean wouldn’t have put a message in here without knowing that Castiel has a way to decipher it.

He sits there, looks over everything and is stunned again by the overwhelming generosity of the pack’s presents. It warms him at the same time that it makes his heart yearn something fierce.

He pockets the piece of paper and adds the knife to his belt before packing the other things back into the chest, making sure to put his slave papers in first so that they are secure at the bottom of the chest.

The knife feels heavy at his hip, the weight something he’s unaccustomed to. He lets his fingers glide over the sheath. It should feel like a weapon. It is a weapon, if you use it as such. Instead, it feels warm and steady. A bit like Dean himself. It feels like he’s touching a promise. _I’ll teach you to carve._ The warm security that Dean still wants to be with him, in whatever ways he can, makes him smile.

 

He makes his way downstairs a little later. He’s torn between being curious and wanting to be alone. But the climb has been exhausting and his stomach is rumbling. And passing up food is always a bad idea. So he ventures down towards the common room, intent on braving the noisy inn keep and whoever else might be visiting the inn tonight.

He guesses it makes sense, too, to try to immerse himself into this new life, now that he’s here. To make sure any choice he makes is informed, even though his heart is longing to go back, even more so than it did before he found the contents of his chest.

He chuckles at himself. He’s comforted the children who got first ripped out of their homes and sold on after presenting, held them through their bouts of homesickness when no one else was there who cared. But he himself had never felt the same way. Had never even had an inkling of what it would be like to miss something or someone this much. Well, he knows now.

With determination, he tracks down the stairs and into the common room. It’s mostly empty, the afternoon having barely shifted into the evening, even though the sky is already darkening into the night with the late season.

“Now don’t be a stranger, stranger,” Pamela calls to him from behind the bar, when he stands a little forlornly in the room.

He puts on a smile, though it doesn’t feel real. Pamela, for all her outward charms, scares him a bit. There’s something deeper to her, something darker, and he’s not sure he wants to find out the details of that.

“Are you hungry yet?” she asks.

Castiel nods.

“You know that you’re allowed to talk, right?” she frowns a little, like she’s talking to a slightly slow child.

“I know,” Castiel makes the effort to answer with words, if only to shut her up. Not that it helps.

“Then do it!” Pamela encourages him.

“I don’t like it very much,” Castiel shrugs. Surprisingly, it feels like a lie.

“I see,” Pamela nods. “Too many years of not talking have gotten to you, huh? You’ll get used to it.”

It echoes so many memories from the pack, that it makes him smile against his will. Dean, Missouri, Jo, they’ve all said it to him at some point. _You’ll get used to being a person._ He kind of thinks he has.

“That makes you happy? You’re a strange one indeed.” Pamela shakes her head and turns to the fire to ladle some stew into a bowl. “You want a mug of beer with that?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel nods.

“Ah see, you can totally do the whole audible response thing!” Pamela smiles.

“Please stop encouraging me.” Castiel isn’t quite sure where the words are coming from but her tone riles him. “I am not stupid and you don’t need to be condescending.”

“And big words, too! Who would have thought!”

This time, Cas outright rolls his eyes. He doesn’t comment any further, though, hoping that his lack of comment will make it clear that he does indeed not want to talk to her. He still mumbles a “thank you” for the stew, though, before he walks away to find himself a table in the corner to eat and observe the people around him in peace.

It feels weird, a whole society made up out of only Omegas. He feels like there should be more variation in the scents, like everything is skewed towards the sweet. But people are talking and laughing, and they are as loud and rambunctious as any other group in a tavern that Castiel has had the bad fortune to witness. He ducks back a little further into his corner, away from the onslaught of humans. Another thing that he’s gotten very used to in the pack in the past months, that at least he knew everyone who was loud and rambunctious, knew to assess them and also knew that none of them would start anything serious. Dean doesn’t take kindly to pack members injuring each other. And no one is particularly keen on the extra work Dean is going to give them when they ‘obviously have the energy, since it’s enough to get into fights’.

Here, Castiel can’t judge whether a harsh argument will lead to a fight or is just a usual interaction between two temperamental people. Whether a drunk game of cards will lead to accusations of cheating or to peaceful nodding off at the table.

As a result, he’s constantly on his guard and combined with the rest of the day, it’s exhausting him fast. His urge to flee the room gets ever more pressing, so he downs the rest of his beer in one long gulp and gets up to return his dishes to the bar.

“Leaving already?” Pamela asks. “What a pity. Now there will be almost no good gossip about you.”

“The climb was exhausting,” Castiel excuses.

“Ah yes, you’re not used to the mountain air yet. You will get used to it once you’ve been here for a bit.” She frowns at him again. “If that’s what you’re going to be doing.”

Her eyes take on a level of intensity that makes Castiel uncomfortable. “I’m going to go upstairs and turn in for the night,” he informs her.

“You do that. Sleep well, stranger.” It sounds too thoughtful for his liking, and he can feel her stare at the back of his head until he’s rounded the corner and is out of sight.

 

The bed should be comfortable. It is comfortable, much more so than a few skins thrown on the ground. But the air in the room is too still, the fire heating the room too warm, and the soft blanket can do nothing to disguise the absence of the solid body next to him.

Finally, Castiel caves and opens his chest again to take out the furs inside. They aren’t big enough to be blankets but he drapes them over his pillow so that at least his nose is filled with the familiar smell.

It helps a little, and finally he falls into a fitful sleep, waking at random intervals to grope at a body that isn’t there.

The next morning simultaneously takes an eternity to arrive and arrives too early. Castiel has no idea what is expected of him today. His muscles hurt from climbing, his heart hurts from the absence of everyone he’s come to appreciate and his head hurts because he didn’t sleep well. It is not a good combination for any new day, let alone one where he’s expected to start the details of a new life.

He makes it downstairs shortly after dawn. There is no one in the common room, so Castiel explores towards the back. He doesn’t dare enter the kitchen, inn keeps usually unfriendly about anyone they suspect of stealing food from the kitchens, but he finds the hallway that leads to the yard.

There are chicken picking their way through the dirt, and a few cats are sharing what looks like a bowl of watered-down milk.

“It’s peaceful out here, isn’t it?”

He flinches at the unexpected voice and then scolds himself for letting Pamela sneak up on him. He’s lived with a hunters’ pack, for God’s sake, that shouldn’t happen to him.

“Do you know your way around chickens?”

Castiel shakes his head. “The pack doesn’t have any. Too complicated to travel with. We get our eggs from the market or from ducks’ nests.” The heavy silence tells him what he’s said a moment after he’s said it. “They,” he corrects. “They get their eggs from the market.”

Pamela doesn’t call him out on the slip of tongue, instead she argues, “You haven’t always lived in a hunters’ pack.”

“Unfortunately not, no,” Castiel answers drily.

“Yeah, you’re too pretty for anyone to keep you as a farmhand. They’d use you for different things.”

“I’m aware,” Castiel says and turns abruptly. He has no intention of opening old wounds to satisfy the curiosity of the inn keep.

She holds her hands out in front of her in a disarming gesture, while at the same time stepping into his path, holding him back. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Castiel stops. There is always a moment when the other shoe drops. He guesses it’s better if it is now than later, even if that doesn’t stop the apprehension in him.

“Has Gabriel mentioned what I do apart from being an inn keep?”

“Something about reading,” Castiel answers reluctantly. He isn’t sure whether he actually wants to find out what it means, but by now he guesses that he will find out whether he wants to or not.

Pamela snorts. “Well, that’s about as vague a description as you can get.”

“He also said to do it to me,” Castiel replies, voice darkening and muscles tensing.

“Whoa. It’s a reading, no more,” Pamela holds her hands out appeasingly. “No need to go into a fighting stance, I ain’t gonna hurt a hair on your head, pretty. I can read your tea leaves or the lines in your palms or we can use tarot cards. None of it hurts and in the end, it will make no difference. But we’ll need a little time and space to be alone. I need to concentrate for this to work.”

“And what exactly would it be that you’re reading?” Castiel asks and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“You,” Pamela says bluntly. “Your past, your present, your future as far as it can be seen. It’ll help find the place that you fit into and that will make you happy. We have more choices here than you can fathom. This will help narrow it down.”

Missouri’s knowing eyes are suddenly on his mind. The way her eyes turned soft whenever she looked at him and Dean. “Are you ever wrong?” Castiel asks Pamela.

“No,” Pamela shakes her head. Then she shrugs. “Though in my business, I don’t deal in absolutes. There is a first for everything.”

“Do you ever lie about what you see?” Castiel narrows his eyes at her. Maybe it is unfair but he doesn’t trust Pam. Not the way he trusts Missouri. But then, Missouri didn’t actual use whatever knowledge she possessed to guide his choices in any particular direction.

“No,” Pamela’s face changes into a small smile, “not usually at least. People deserve the truth about their lives, even if it is not the answer they want to hear.”

“So what if I don’t want to hear it?” Castiel challenges.

Pamela raises her eyebrows. “You don’t strike me as someone who is afraid of what the future might hold.”

Castiel wrinkles his brow, not sure whether it is an insult or not. “But I might want the future to be my decision, not yours,” he says.

Pamela sobers at once. “I’m not telling anything that I do not see, and I have no advantage from influencing what I do see. But if it is your wish, I will report what I see to Gabriel and leave you in the dark. Your loss.”

Castiel tilts his head as he studies her. He didn’t expect the show of temper but it doesn’t cow him. “I’d have expected more empathy in this of all places,” he replies somberly.

Pamela looks at him in confusion.

Of course. She doesn’t even understand what she’s doing. Castiel sighs and tries to explain his words. “I gather most here haven’t been born in the sanctuary. I would have expected that it would be looked upon kindly that when there’s a chance to choose your path freely, that chance will be taken.”

Another moment passes as Pamela digests his words. “Okay, I get what you mean. It doesn’t change that you’re wrong about the generality of it, but I commend you for your attitude. Most people used to obeying, when confronted with the possibility to choose freely, are so scared they piss their pants. They want someone to take it out of their hands.”

“So you are the one who takes it?” Castiel asks with a frown.

“No!” Pamela shakes her head energetically. “I do no such thing. All I do is give them direction.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Then by all means, read what have you to in my palms. But do not expect me to follow your words.”

Pamela stares at him for a long moment. “You might be quiet, but you are a feisty one, aren’t you?”

Castiel shrugs. He is used to obeying, yes, but not in the way he’d once been used to it. Things have changed, ever since the night by the fire and the morning Dean tested his skills. Ever since Cas had really become a part of Dean’s pack, even if he didn’t notice it immediately. The thought conjures a smile. He’s a part of Dean’s pack. He’s a part of something larger, pulling his own weight and appreciated for it, as the presents in his room prove. It’s not a thing he’d ever expected to have.

“People appraise you wrong a lot, don’t they?” Pamela says. “They think you’re shy and obedient and that you’re too used to being a slave to give them trouble. I have a feeling that that’s a mistake.”

Fond memories immediately turn into suspicion, the words hitting a little too close to home. “How would you appraise me then?” he challenges.

Pamela looks at him long and hard, her features rearranging themselves into something that commands authority. “Give me your hand,” she orders and reaches out her own.

Castiel does not want to. It may be the way things are handled here but if this city is what it states it is, then his life and his secrets should be his to share or keep as he sees fit. “What will you do to me if I don’t? Or if you don’t like what you find?”

“Every Omega is welcome here,” Pamela replies evenly.

“That’s not what I asked,” Castiel points out, his thoughts straying to the knife at his belt. It is an inadequate weapon to fight his way out of a city but he’ll take it if he has nothing else.

“Whose voice are you using?” Pamela asks.

“What?”

“It’s not your own, that tone. You’ve learned it somewhere.”

For a moment, Cas is perplexed. Then he looks away. Dean’s. He’s using the tone of voice and the words Dean would be using when dealing with a stranger he doesn’t trust. “It’s not of import.”

“Uh-huh,” Pamela makes an unconvinced face.

Castiel sighs and makes a decision. He holds out his hand, palm up. This woman is as stubborn as he is. She’ll get what she wants.

Pamela looks up from his hand to him. There’s a frown on her face.

“Do it already,” he sighs. “You’ve got my permission.”

She gives him another hard look, then nods, apparently satisfied with what she finds in his face. She takes his left hand into both of hers, bringing it up towards her face so she can study it intently. She frowns, brushes over his palm and stares some more. Then she grabs his other hand and looks at that. It doesn’t seem to make anything better. Her frown deepens and she shakes her head as if to clear it before she starts over, now looking at both of his hands at the same time.

It’s more than worrisome. “What is it?” Castiel asks.

“Would you mind – would you mind switching to a different method?” Pamela asks, brows still drawn together. It is not anger, though, as her voice is clearly confused.

“I don’t mind,” Castiel says.

“Then please, come inside with me.”

He follows her through the dim hallway and into a small living room, off to the left where the common room of the tavern is to the right.

“Please sit,” she asks him and he does.

She searches through a chest and comes back with a velvet pouch. Carefully, she empties its contents onto the table.

At first glance, they look like stones. Then the ivory color and the uneven shapes teach Castiel better. He frowns. He has seen this before, used hushedly in dark corners. 

“They are not evil,” Pamela picks up on his thoughts.

“They are bones. They use the power of death.”

“They use that which has lived and seen beyond the veil to tie two worlds. It is not dark magic,” Pamela defends.

Castiel nods uneasily. He has never had much use for magic in his life, and he doubts that he would be able to tell the difference between dark and light unless someone cut an Omega’s throat in front of him to use their blood for a ritual.

“You have no reason to trust me, I know. But I don’t meddle with powers too dark for me to hold back.”

“I’m not sure the distinction would be clear before it is too late,” Castiel argues. But the oracle bones look well used and it doesn’t seem like any demon has stampeded through the inn in the near past, so he guesses they are safe enough. “What do you need me to do?”

“Not much,” Pamela says. “Take them up with your left hand. Like with the palm, the one closer to your heart gives the more accurate results. Think of yourself, of your life, of who you are, of who you want to be, and let them fall onto the table.”

Castiel hesitates for a breath or two before he finally picks the bones up. They are smooth and worn, as such no different from the bones of a chicken or a rabbit prepared for an evening meal. Their weight is different though, somehow, as if their purpose made them heavier than they ought to be.

He takes another deep breath and closes his eyes. Tries to think of himself. It is easier said than done. He is just – himself. Nothing much special.

He decides that it is not going to work this way and that instead of thinking about himself in generalized terms, he needs to let his memories guide him.

_Lying next to Dean under their bearskin. Fighting with Jo in hand to hand combat. Missouri’s eyes shining with wisdom. The feel of cold steel around his wrists. The feel of the leather strap against his back. Dean dragging him away from Master Crowley. An Angel Blade in his hand, slick with blood. Walking into Angels’ Nest with Balthazar. The softness of his blue tunic. Dean’s eyes in the firelight._

There is no rhyme or rhythm to the memories, no order that he can discern, but he guesses it has to be good enough. He opens his hand, the bones clattering onto the table before they come to lie still.

He opens his eyes next, brings his heartrate back under control. Many of the memories had been good, others had been very bad. All of them had been close to his heart.

Pamela leans forward, strains to take in every detail of how the bones have fallen.

They lie in an odd half-circle, like they’d been cut off by an invisible wall. Of course there is no wall, Pamela is leaning into that exact space just now and it is the same air as everywhere else in the room.

Again, the longer she stares, the more confused her expression becomes. She uses her hands, draws lines between the bones that mean nothing to Castiel.

Finally, she throws her hands up in the air. “I give up.”

Castiel looks up at her. She looks shaken.

When she notices his gaze, she laughs a small, almost hysterical laugh. “I swear this has never happened before. I cannot read you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that none of this makes sense. This here,” she gestures above a section of the fallen bones, “this is incomplete. It’s like the sentences break off in the middle. The only thing I can read somewhat clearly is your past and it doesn’t tell me anything that I didn’t know already.”

“And what is that?” Castiel asks.

“In the most part, the same things that are true for most people here. That there was pain. An endless stream of pain. Though now that I say it, there is something else.” She leans forward again, studying the layout in front of her. “The pain wasn’t all inflicted on you. You were doing the inflicting as well. Though that pained you, too.” She sinks back in her seat, gesturing vaguely at the rest of the bones. “There’s an abrupt change after that and that’s the last thing I see. Then it just breaks off into gibberish. Like - poof.” She mimes an explosion with her hands.

Castiel looks at the bones again. He can’t read them, not one bit. His fingers find the paper in his pocket. He can’t read that, either. For a long moment, he’s unsure. But then he looks up at Pamela again and she looks back at him, and despite her frustration, her eyes remind him of Missouri’s. She carries the same wisdom. And as a wise woman, who knows the ways of magic, chances are she will be able to help him.

Castiel draws the piece of paper out of his pocket and lays it on the table.

“What is that?” Pamela asks, frustration turning into curiosity.

“A gift,” Castiel answers. “I cannot read it. Can you?” He pushes the paper closer to her.

She takes it, though she only pulls it close, doesn’t pick it up. She looks at it with the same intensity that she used to study the bones. When she finally reads out loud, her voice had an odd edge to it. Like she doesn’t trust that she’s reading this right. “ _Your happiness is also my happiness. Don’t you ever forget that. Go be happy, Cas. Yours, D._ ”

Dean’s expression is suddenly in front of him. His attempt at being stoic, when they’d said goodbye, at not letting his feelings be known to the strangers in attendance, or even to Cas, Castiel surmises. Because grieving for Cas means strings are attached to this gift. And it is a gift that Dean has given him, offering him this. Freedom and a new life. Even at the expense of the Alpha’s own happiness.

Cas silently pockets the paper again, but not before gently straightening it out.

“Who is this D?” Pamela asks, curiosity in her voice.

There are so many ways Cas could answer this. But there’s the one word that has been floating on his mind. The word from the fairytales and kitchen gossip. The word that shouldn’t be true. Because it’s a myth and a rumor and it doesn’t exist. People bond in packs, not in pairs. 

And still, he looks up at Pamela and he is suddenly sure of everything. He points at the bones. “Dean. He’s the missing half. He’s why you can’t read me.”

It takes a moment, an endlessly long moment, then Pamela gapes. “A mate. You have a mate.”

Hearing her say it is like seeing the sun come up behind the clouds. The word alone enough to make him glow. “Yes,” he nods. “I do. I have a mate. I can’t stay here.”

 

Gabriel’s and Balthazar’s reactions are no different than Pamela’s when they go to tell them the result of Pamela’s reading. They gape, their mouths open. Though there is a hint of angry dejection in Gabriel’s expression and scent that makes Castiel think that this outcome might be the exact reason why he had insisted on the reading.

“That’s impossible,” Balthazar exclaims.

“Improbable,” Pamela corrects. “I mean, I’ve met a lot of people in my life, and even I have only heard rumors and never met someone who had a mate before.”

“I have, once,” Gabriel says, his voice bitter and his eyes scared. “I met them a year after their mate had died, and all that was left was grief. A grief so true, so deep, so all-encompassing I’d never seen similar. I couldn’t help them, even though I tried.”

“Alphas breed Omegas! They do not – love!” Balthazar spits.

Gabriel violently shakes himself out of the memory and pulls himself together to put a comforting hand on Balthazar’s shoulder. “Both you and I have never met an Alpha who was different. It doesn’t mean those Alphas can’t exist.”

“But Winchester? Really?” Balthazar snarls.

He gets met by Castiel’s growl and an appeasing gesture from Gabriel in both their directions. “Winchester does not believe in owning Omegas. It’s a good start.”

“We don’t know that! We have only his word and that of an infatuated Omega, whose protective instincts are in overdrive. We could be sending him back to be a slave!” Balthazar shouts. “How can you even consider that?”

“Because it’s my choice, not his.” Castiel’s voice, quiet as it might be, cuts through the noise of the room with its bite. It doesn’t keep him from blushing when all eyes are suddenly on him. He holds his head up high when he continues. “I’m not a slave. Dean has let me go. But he’s waiting for me and every day I spend here, every day I keep them waiting, puts them at risk. Puts everyone I -, everyone I love at risk. They’re my family. Nothing will change that.” There. He’s said it.

Balthazar takes a deep breath to answer something harsh but Gabriel cuts him off with an impatient gesture. “Is it true what Hannah told me, that you learned a hunter’s skills in the Winchester pack?”

Cas tilts his head, not quite understanding how this is an answer to anything he’s said. “Yes,” he nods. “I’m far away from being as good as they are. But they have taught me what they could in the time that we’ve had.”

Both Balthazar and Pamela make a surprised noise, but Gabriel only nods. “I thought that Dean Winchester wouldn’t lie about that.” He fixes Castiel with his gaze. “One day. Give it one day. Take a look at our city. Take in what we have built from nothing. We could need someone with a hunter’s skills. Give it one day to make sure that your decision is indeed what you want. The weather will hold, I promise.”

Cas thinks about it for a long moment. His heart longs to be back with Dean. And even if the weather holds, every day he waits is a day closer to winter. A day closer to being surprised by snow on a mountain pass. At the same time, the wonders of this city are beautiful. And the leader of the city has taken him in without asking twice. He owes them consideration.

“It will not change my mind,” Cas says. “But I will stay a day to see your city.”

“Good,” Gabriel says. “Very good. Hannah will guide you.”

 

For the first hour, Castiel is not sure that Gabriel has made a good choice in his guide. He’d already gotten used to Pamela and would have actually liked following her. But she had to get back to the inn, so Hannah it is.

She isn’t unsympathetic as such. She exudes a quiet strength and Castiel can see why she holds a position of leadership in this community.

At the same time, her face goes from disbelief to disgust when Gabriel brings her up to speed on Castiel’s situation. She smooths it out quickly enough, but the way she keeps eyeing Castiel makes him feel like he’s an exhibit in one of the traveling shows rather than a fellow Omega.

“Do you think it wrong?” he asks bluntly when he can’t take the tension anymore.

“What?” She is taken aback, just having gotten through explaining to him what orchards they have and how they keep their bee population stable.

Castiel thinks about how to word this for a moment. It is not quite a question of whether she thinks it wrong that he wants to go back, more a question of, “Love. Do you find love wrong?”

She frowns at him, her head tilted in much the same way his own head does often enough. “I love my brothers and sisters here in the city,” she answers.

“That’s not the kind of love I was asking about,” Cas corrects softly.

“Alphas are little more than vicious animals,” she says and this time her disgust is clear. “Brute strength is all they are capable of.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel frowns. “They feel, just like we do. They, too, can love. They can appreciate and even create beauty when they set their mind to it.”

Hannah snorts, disbelief etched into all of her features.

Castiel draws Dean’s knife out of its sheath then, and hands it to her, handle first. “Look at it, tell me what you see.”

She takes the knife cautiously, but she peers at it. “It’s a forest scene carved into the hilt. A squirrel in – an Oaktree I think?”

“Yes, that’s what it is,” Castiel smiles. Dean’s fondness for squirrels is a point of teasing among the pack. Dean usually shrugs and says he finds it funny how nuts they are for nuts. “Now tell me what it makes you feel.”

Hannah looks at him like he’s crazy but she studies the knife again. Finally, she hands it back with a shrug. “It’s peaceful, I guess. I’m not too familiar with the deep forests.”

“Peaceful will do,” Cas nods. He reverently turns the knife around in his hands and strokes a thumb over the fur of the squirrel, before he puts the knife in its sheath again. “This is Dean’s knife. He gave it to me as a farewell present. It was his mother’s. But everything he owns, he adorns with the same peaceful forest scenes. With the same level of attention to detail and the same love for the creatures of the woods. So try again if you want to tell me that he is no more than a brutish ape.”

That shuts her up, if only for a moment. “He’s still an Alpha. A beautiful carving is not worth sacrificing your place in this city for, Castiel.”

“No,” he answers. “A carving is not. The man himself is.”

There is nothing to say after that, so they wander on, quiet for the most part unless Hannah finds something to point out. They don’t stop until they reach a big building. It looks official. Possibly even more official then the house where they had met with Gabriel.

“This is our school,” Hannah says, pride shining in her voice. “We teach them, our children. They learn everything they are forbidden outside, reading and writing and numbers. They are all smart! They learn as fast as any Beta.”

Castiel smiles at her enthusiasm, suddenly finding her much warmer than before. “Do you have many children here?” he asks.

Her smile falls a little. “Not as many as I’d like. We take in whoever finds their way to us.”

“You don’t go out and search for them?” Cas asks curiously.

She shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous. We’re too few and while we have the skills and weapons to defend this place, the same is not true outside.”

“Hmm,” Castiel thinks about it. “You’d need hunters’ skills for that.”

She weighs his words before she disagrees. “It wouldn’t work. No one who’s found peace here would want to live outside again. The risk is too high.”

Cas hums in agreement. A group of Omegas would indeed be at constant danger. Not even only when rescuing children. Just existing without an Alpha who owns them would mean they would get hunted down for sure. “It is good that you have your city.”

Hannah glances at him from the side. “But you are not swayed. Even with everything I have shown you today.”

Castiel thinks of the orchards and the bee hives and the shops and the public bath and tidy houses and streets, and of the school. Hannah has told him that it’s been five winters since they went hungry and even longer since they went cold.

But then he thinks of the twinkle in Dean’s eyes when he’s happy and of the warmth of Dean’s chest and of the way his whole face lights up when Cas wins a fight against Jo. Which makes him think of Jo and Charlie and Benny and Missouri and Sam. “No,” he tells Hannah. “I am not swayed.”

She shakes her head, still obviously thrown by his decision, but the disgust from earlier doesn’t come back.

 

“We’ll bring you,” Gabriel says the next morning when Castiel comes to tell him his decision and say his goodbyes. “Just to make sure.”

Castiel nods, relieved, if only because he has no idea how he would have carried his chest down the steep slope.

They are a slightly bigger group this time, Balthazar as well as Inias and Samandriel with them again, but Gabriel and Pamela joining their ranks.

They are curious, Cas thinks. They want to see how it works, that whole thing where two people are mates.

His heart flutters in his chest. He isn’t sure about that particular point, either. He has only realized it fully when he was away from Dean, after all. That what he feels for him is a bond so profound that the word from the fairytales can be attached to it and fit.

He has no idea whether Dean feels the same. Dean has never given him any promises on this. _We’ll talk about it, when you’re back._ That doesn’t have to mean a thing.

So the longer they climb, downwards, ever downwards, the more nervous Cas gets.

They’re about a third of the way down when there’s a ledge where it is possible to look all the way down. They are tiny still but the wagons are still there.

Dean has kept his word. He has waited. Cas breathes a sigh of relief where no one can see and forces his legs to move faster.

It takes them the better part of the next two hours until they are close enough that they get spotted. It’s obvious, though, the weak echo of the shouts making it all the way up and the ant-sized humans running around in sudden commotion.

“Last chance to turn back,” Gabriel turns to Castiel. “Be a free man with us and all that.” He says it with an almost fond exasperation, already aware of the answer.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “Thank you, but no.”

“Well, in that case, onward and downward,” Gabriel nods. He takes another piece of licorice out of his pocket and turns back to climb further down.

“Gabriel,” Castiel calls him back hesitantly. “You’ll still trade with them, right?”

Gabriel stops, eyebrows raised in question. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Castiel shrugs. “You don’t trade with packs that have Omegas.”

“We don’t trade with packs that have _slaves_ ,” Balthazar answers irritatedly. “We’re assuming that you won’t be a slave or we wouldn’t be delivering you back.”

Somewhat taken aback by Balthazar’s aggressive tone, Cas looks between him and Gabriel. But he has been stewing on this point ever since he talked about the school with Hannah yesterday. “So if I – if the pack came back and for some reason there’d be Omegas with us that needed a home – you’d be willing to take them in? Especially if they were children?”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rise ever higher and he comes back towards Castiel. “Cassie, are you saying that you want to be a hero who rescues Omegas?”

“I – No. I’m no hero,” he quickly shakes his head. “But I have a pack. I can do what you can’t. I can travel.”

“You have a hunters’ pack. Who don’t want to become the hunted,” Balthazar argues.

“They’ll help. Within their means, they’ll help.” Castiel is completely sure of that.

“Hmm,” Gabriel thinks about it for a moment. “You’d be like – our ambassador. Part of our city yet out in the world.”

“I like it,” Pamela says.

“Weirdly, I kind of like it, too,” Gabriel nods. “Cassie, angelic ambassador in the human world.”

Balthazar groans, and Pamela rolls her eyes, but something heavy in Castiel lightens. He hasn’t stayed long in the city, too short to actually get to know anyone, too short to form friendships. But he’s the only Omega in Dean’s pack, and well, truth to be told, he probably doesn’t want too many other Omegas near Dean. He hadn’t even noticed he’d missed having other Omegas around until he got to Angels’ Nest. Had almost forgotten that there were other people who were the same as him.

But now he remembers. And with that comes both a feeling of kinship and a wish to help. And the longer he thinks about it, the more he believes that he might actually be able to do that. Not for everyone, not even for most. But if he works hard, if he contributes, he’s sure Dean and the pack will let him trade whatever is his share of their spoils against the life of an Omega in need. 

“I like it, too,” Castiel smiles shyly.

“Well, then that’s how it shall be,” Gabriel nods determinedly. “You shall be our ambassador and bring us news from the world and we’ll welcome every refugee you find with open arms.” As an afterthought he adds, “And you, too. Should you ever change your opinion. Or should you just want to make the climb to come by for some licorice or some of Pam’s best ale.” He wiggles his licorice stick empathically.

“Thank you,” Castiel smiles. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

There’s a twinkle in Gabriel’s eye then, and he winks at Castiel before saying, “Still an hour to go. Come on, ambassador, let me deliver you to your beau. We’ll better be invited to the wedding, too.”

Cas shakes his head even as he begins to climb again. More fairytales, the talk of weddings. Slaves are bought and taken, after all, not asked to be married. No priest would marry an Alpha to an Omega, even when the Alpha wished it. And really, what few Beta couples there are that formalize a union tend to just declare themselves a couple as well, instead of finding and paying a priest to do what they can do for free themselves. It might be different in the cities and among settled society, where pack structure is weakened and other bonds gain value, but Castiel can’t imagine any Betas in Dean’s pack going ahead and declaring a union in front of a priest. They form bonds, yes, but pair bonds are sometimes closer and sometimes looser, are forged and re-forged and changed depending on moods and seasons and it is clear that loyalty to the pack is the core of everything and trumps any individual bond.

Which – is different for Castiel, he thinks with a frown. He’s come to admire and appreciate his pack mates, missing them sorely even now. But deep down, his loyalty is steadfastly to Dean. And when he thinks about the future, he sees the pack, yes, but their importance shrinks in comparison to the bond he feels to Dean. Would Dean be bested by another Alpha, his pack taken over, there is no doubt Castiel would follow Dean into exile. 

“I have a red ribbon in my pocket,” Pamela whispers to Castiel as the others begin to climb again. “Could be used for a handfasting. In case you want to go through with this.”

“You are insane,” Castiel whispers back, because his own thoughts might have drifted in that direction, but reality is not composed of Castiel’s daydreams.

His answer provokes a hearty round of laughter from her, that to his own surprise makes him chuckle as well. Suddenly he thinks that even with the short time they’ve spent, he’s going to miss Pamela. And how weird is that, that he’s starting to like humans enough to miss some of them.

He keeps thinking about that for the rest of the way down. About Pamela and Missouri and Jo and Benny and Charlie. About how Pamela is blunt but in a good way. About how Missouri always tries to make him feel safe, how even when she knows more of the future than he does, she still makes sure that he knows that the decisions are not out of his hand and that he can handle them, too. And Jo and Benny? They’re both fighters and Cas had always been wary of them because of it. More so than of Charlie who’d mostly made him uncomfortable with her insistence in talking to him. But Jo has taught him all of her best dirty fighting tricks, making sure to even teach him how to topple an Alpha bare-handed, if only to gain enough time to run or find a weapon. And Benny gives him a smile and a nod every time he sees him, though he’s not known to smile much.

And Dean… Words aren’t good enough to describe Dean. Never have been. He’s tried not to think about what he feels for Dean. Because every time he does, a cold panic grips him.

_If you’d want a family with me, that’s the only way I’d want that…_

Dean’s words about children echo in Castiel’s mind. A family. A fairytale just like the talk of mates and handfastings. Impossible.

But then.

He’s been to a city that shines brightly above the clouds and houses only Omegas.

He’s been bought and he’s been set free.

And he’s decided to go back out of his own free will. Because he chooses to be with the one he loves.

He blushes at his own frank thoughts, but really, how is that not a fairytale? And if he’s come this far already, who says he can’t go the rest of the way?

 

They’re climbing the last of the steep path now, in clear sight of the plain below. It is good, too, because Cas’ legs are beginning to shake with the strain of going down.

There is a group breaking away from the camp, an envoy making their way over to them so that the Omegas won’t have to come too close.

They’re coming over in long strides, propelled to a fast pace by the man in front.

“We’re a larger group than normal,” Balthazar remarks. “We’ll have them up in arms.”

Gabriel snorts. “Nonsense. He’s afraid we’re not bringing _him_ , that’s all. Who’s the tall one?”

“Sam,” Castiel answers. “Dean’s brother.”

Gabriel whistles through his teeth. “Now, I’m not a fan of playing outside of my safe grounds, but that one is one good looking specimen.”

Balthazar groans. “And that is why you are our leader in our city and we don’t take you on diplomatic missions.”

“Are you afraid I’m gonna leave you behind, darling?” Gabriel says in an obnoxious sugary-sweet tone.

“No, I’m afraid you’re gonna seduce every fucking person who catches your fancy and then will kill them when they fall in love with you. Do you know how detrimental to our trade agreements that would be?”

It’s Gabriel’s turn to snort, though he doesn’t deny the accusation.

Instead, he flattens his shirts, straightening the wrinkles out as far as possible and then strides up to greet Dean. “Dean-o, long time no see.”

But Dean’s eyes aren’t on Gabriel. They’re searching behind him to find Cas.

Castiel feels the blush rising to his cheeks, and averts his gaze, tries to collect himself. It’s only been a few days. There is no need for the anxious knot that’s forming in his stomach.

“Hello, Gabriel,” Sam answers when Dean doesn’t. “You gotta excuse our Alpha, he’s been – uhh, having a rough few days.”

Gabriel cackles. “I betcha. We’re all caught up on that situation. Though Cassie seemed to deal with the separation fairly well, considering.”

Cas dares to look up then and finds that Dean is standing frozen, staring at him.

“Yeah, can’t really say the same for Dean.” Sam’s voice sounds pained though he tries to cover it with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a long few days.”

“Well, big shot Alpha isn’t used to his Omega holding all the cards, huh?” Gabriel grins. “Gotta be taxing.”

It’s the first time Dean reacts to anything Gabriel has said, his eyes narrowing, his gaze swiftly switching to Gabriel at the words ‘ _his Omega’_.

“Maybe you should let Castiel speak, then, instead of continuing this idle banter.” Castiel hadn’t even noticed Missouri before she speaks up. Her discontent is virtually dripping off of her.

“First sensible idea I’ve heard in this meeting,” Pamela agrees. “Though I have the distinct feeling that they should talk without us crowding around them like vultures. Let’s give them some space.”

She brushes past Castiel, pushing a soft coil into his hand. She doesn’t turn and he doesn’t look, but he closes his hand tightly around the object, not doubting for a second what it is.

There’s grumbling all around but there is movement, too, and then Cas and Dean are alone. Well, as alone as they’re going to be. They’re still being watched by at least half of the pack, Cas is sure. But their immediate surroundings are cleared.

For a long moment, they keep looking at each other, 6 paces still between them. Then Cas takes the first step. As soon as he starts closing the distance, Dean follows, until they meet in the middle.

There are bags under Dean’s eyes and his face looks hollower than Castiel remembers. And while Dean keeps his expression stoically neutral, his eyes are searching Cas with an intensity that almost makes Castiel want to shrink back. They’re feverish and pained and they allow themselves no hope.

How has Cas not seen that before? How little hope Dean keeps for himself when he gives it to everyone else. Even now, even with the evidence of Castiel being back right in front of him, it doesn’t seem like he believes what is already plain in front of his eyes.

“Hold out your hand,” Castiel says and it’s a straight-out request and three days ago he wouldn’t have made it. He adds no please, he doesn’t look down demurely, he doesn’t budge an inch. Just patiently waits for Dean to get over his moment of shock.

When Dean does, he doesn’t hesitate, even though his hand shakes when he stretches it out.

Carefully, Cas finds one end of the ribbon in his hand and wraps it around Dean’s palm, Dean’s fingers closing around it.

Cas lets the ribbon unwind, lets it fall between them until Dean is holding one end and he is holding the other.

“Someone would have to tie it around our hands. Or so I’ve been told. They are both big skeptics and fervent believers up at Angels’ Nest.” He waits for his words to set in, for Dean to recognize what they mean.

There is a long blank stare, then a frown and then a look of utter disbelief. “You mean…?”

Dean’s voice is so rough that it reminds Cas of his own, when he tried to press out words after not speaking for too long.

“You told me once that the only way you wanted children is if I wanted a family with you,” Castiel says. He closes the last step between them and makes sure he holds Dean’s eyes. “Is that still true?”

There is a breathless nod from Dean and really it’s all that Cas needs.

“Well, then, Dean Winchester. I do not believe in fairytales but I believe in this: There is a ribbon to fasten our hands, and a pack that needs an heir, and a city that needs an ambassador. And I think, between the two of us, we can make all of that come true.”

“But Cas, you… with them, you’d be free.” Dean shakes himself like he can’t believe any of what is happening. Like he still can’t believe that Cas really came back to him.

Cas nods. He has no trouble understanding the concept of the Omega sanctuary. It’s just that it is not what he wants. “I am free, Dean. You gave me free.” He puts his hand, that’s still holding the end of the ribbon, over Dean’s. “But I’d be yours, by my own free will, if you were mine as well. If we were to become – mates.” It’s the first time he’s uttered the word out loud and it makes his heart beat at a staccato rhythm.

“Mates?” Dean whispers and his voice breaks on the hope that’s crept into this one word.  

It’s the hope that gives Castiel the courage to nod. He looks up the few inches that Dean’s got on him in height. “Mates,” he confirms. “A bond forged in magic and love. Like in the fairytales of old.”

“Love?” Dean breathes, his face so close to Cas’ that it’s hard to focus.

“Love,” he agrees even while his hand finds Dean’s chest and Dean’s arm comes up around his waist.

“Love,” Dean repeats and it sounds reverent and astonished, so warm and deep that all doubts Castiel’s had about this, every notion that Dean might laugh at him or might reject his insane proposal disappear in smoke.

And because that is so, Cas stretches up on his toes, doing something that he’s not planned up until this very second. He presses his lips to Dean’s, even though it’s still daylight and they’re in plain sight of the camp.

Dean tenses before he melts, but he does melt, sighing a relieved breath into his open mouth before kissing him back. He pulls Cas even closer, almost crushing him with the tightness of his hug.

“You came back,“ Dean whispers in awe.

“I came back,” Cas nods and lays his forehead against Dean’s. “There was never any doubt about it.”

Dean doesn’t answer but Cas can feel him shaking in his arms, the knowledge finally settling in.

“I love you. Have loved you for a while now.” It’s the only thing Cas can think of saying.

Dean sighs another breath of relief. He cups Cas’ face, though his eyes when they are searching him are bright now, the desperation from before gone. “So I am – am I allowed to love you, too?”

Cas chuckles, freeing himself of Dean’s grip only so much that he can put a hand on Dean’s face as well. “You already do, Alpha. Have done for a while, I think.”

His happiness about that radiates outward, curves his mouth into a soft smile, and after a moment, Dean mirrors it, until a happy smile encompasses his whole face. “Yes, Cas. God, yes, I love you.” He hugs him tight. “Let’s do this, okay? This handfasting thing, let’s do it. Let’s make the fairytales come true. Let’s become mates!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, look at that, suddenly we have set up quite a bit of this world. So in theory, we could revisit it if you wanted to read more. Let me know if there's anything specific you would like to see and I'll see what I can do. I might take one or the other prompt if they fit with my view of this world. <3


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